


Fantastic Reasons and Where to Find Them

by shannsleeve



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10994712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannsleeve/pseuds/shannsleeve
Summary: Feather Firestone never wanted her life to turn out this way. After a recent release from St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, she finds herself without work, friendship, love, or hope. At a loss for what to do, she writes to Tina & Queenie Goldstein, looking for refuge and counsel in their cozy apartment across the pond. However, Feather’s time away isn’t as leisurely or quiet as she thought it would be, especially upon meeting a certain Magizoologist & a particularly talented baker. While scurrying around to save a case of magical creatures and the entire city of New York, Feather unwittingly stumbles upon what she’s been searching for - new, fantastic reasons to keep living.





	1. One

“You know, it isn’t very often that we see one of your kind, Miss Firestein.”

“It’s Fire-STONE, Healer Morton.”

The young witch let out a long, guttural groan and rolled her eyes at the wizard sitting in front of her. He was scrawny with feathery blonde hair and beady hazel eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thick, horn-rimmed spectacles.

“Feather Fire-STONE. And what exactly do you mean ‘MY KIND?’ The mentally and magically unstable?” She placed her hands against the smooth marble countertop of Morton’s desk and leaned as far forward as she could, putting her full weight on her palms, her feet almost leaving the ground, until she was only a few inches from his face. Her dark brown eyes locked with his widening ones and she almost smirked at the bead of sweat beginning to form on his brow.

“W-Well, y-yes, I suppose I—“ Morton stuttered, feeling as if his tongue were covered in several layers of Flobberworm mucus. “I-I mean there’s nothing wrong with–“

“With what?” If it was possible for the witch to lean any closer to the healer’s face, she would be rubbing noses with him. She watched, amused, as he shut his eyes tight, sinking into his chair, muttering a Shield charm under his breath. Once his feeble shield materialized, she took her hands off the table and fell back onto her feet. A tired sigh escaped her lips before she spoke to Morton again. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for anyone to talk about. Both the Wizarding and Muggle communities alike are at a loss…”

At her words Morton tentatively opened his right eye, taking the opportunity to also relax his shoulders (just a smidge). “We can’t help being ignorant if we haven’t had certain experiences.”

Feather turned her burning gaze back to Morton’s again. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t _try_ to understand the experiences of others,” she ground out through gritted teeth. She’d definitely had enough of this man, this conversation, and St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. “May I just get my discharge papers so I can be on my way?”

“Oh.” The healer glanced at the countertop where a few crane-shaped memorandums fluttered towards a large pile of parchment. “Of course…just give me a moment.” Morton drew his wand and pointed it at the paper cranes. “ _Accio, Asylum discharge papers_.”

One of the memo-cranes zoomed towards his waiting hand, unfurling itself before reaching his fingers. “Huh, just one page? All right then.”

His eyes darted quickly back and forth as he skimmed the page. When he was finished, he gave a satisfied grunt, produced a small silver seal from his pocket, stamped the parchment, and handed it to Feather. “Here you are, Miss Fire--stin--stone.”

The young witch forced her lips into a small, tight smile. “All right.”

She grabbed the parchment and stuffed it into her pocket without glancing at it. The healers from the Asylum Ward had already briefed her on what to expect the next few weeks. As she pulled her hand from her pocket, it brushed against a long, sturdy piece of wood – her wand. Her fingers retracted almost immediately as tiny sparks of magic jumped from the larch wood to her skin.

“Hello, old friend,” she whispered, trying to ignore the cold shiver that ran down her spine. She forced her hand to curl around the wand’s handle. “We’ll take this nice and slow. I promise. No Splinching today.”

She took a deep breath in, allowing her lungs to fill with the sterile, distilled air of St. Mungo’s. Slowly, she released her breath, counting down from ten until she ran out of air. “Three-two-one…all right, now… _DISAPPARATE!_ ”

After a sharp tug on her navel and a few seconds of nausea, Feather found herself (in one piece) on the doorstep of her flat. As she reached for the door handle, she heaved a sigh and felt her body instantaneously relax. Here were her belongings – her books, her clothes, her tea cup, her kettle. Here was home. She grasped the door handle and pushed it open.

“FEATHER ROSE LAVENDER FIRESTONE! WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

“Shit.”


	2. Two

Queenie Goldstein sat at the head of the empty dining table in her mother’s old apartment, lazily flipping through the most recent edition of ‘U-HEX-A!’ Her right arm was propped against the table, holding her chin and, occasionally, flipping back a stray curl of golden hair. As usual she was home early from her job at the Magical Congress of the United States of America; this time due to a ‘slight head cold and a bit of the stomach flu that’s been terrorizing the office.’ Her hand stilled over the catalogue as she bit her lip, lost in thought.

            “I’ll need to come up with better illnesses or poor Mr. Abernathy will have such a fit!”

            “If he hasn’t had one already,” came a tired voice from the doorway. The witch it belonged to slowly pulled off her cloche and ran a thin hand through her short cropped brown hair. Her mouth opened in a loud, drawn out yawn that she didn’t bother to smother. Dark circles stood out against the pale skin beneath her eyes, a testament to another long, tedious night of hard work and little sleep.

            “TEENIE!” Queenie squealed, hopping up from her seat and tossing the catalogue to the floor. “YOU’RE HOME!” Quick as a freed cornish pixie, she rushed over to her sister and wrapped her in a rib-crushing embrace.

            “Must you do this every time I get home, Queenie?” Porpentina Goldstein rasped, trying her best not to laugh to conserve her oxygen intake. She’d barely had time to hang up her long grey wool coat before being tackled. It dangled loosely from her left arm and was dragged about as Queenie tried to lift her off her feet.

The blonde witch nodded into her sister’s chest, happy to know she was home safe and sound. She’d never admit it aloud but she always worried that she’d lose Tina on the job and be left to fend for herself. The world was cruel and lonely enough. There was no need to make their situation worse.

            “Air. Please,” Tina gasped, trying to pry her sister’s arms off her torso.

            Queenie immediately released Tina from her grasp and stepped back, a slight blush on her cheeks. “Sorry.” She gestured towards the chair across from her seat at the table, encouraging Tina to sit. She slid gracefully into her own seat and leaned forward, her elbows planted on the tabletop, chin resting lightly in her palms, a playful smile on her lips. “Now, tell me all about what’s happenin’ in the Major Investigative Department. Has Rosemary finally made a move on Mr. Graves?”

            Tina snorted as she slid into her chair, tapping her wand against the sleeve of her coat to will it to put itself away. “Of course not. No one has the gall to do such a thing; least of all Rosemary Ruffhouse. You really shouldn’t be worrying about them, Queenie. You’ll only help fuel their huge egos.” She turned to summon a mug and a pot of hot cocoa simmering on the stove. “Want a cup?”

            “Sure,” Queenie answered, summoning her own mug. “Come on, Teenie, the pool is so _dreadfully_ boring. I need _some_ form of entertainment.”

            “Isn’t that what Abernathy’s for?” Tina smirked over the rim of her cup. “After all, he won’t stop telling everyone about the ‘ravishing Queenie Goldstein’ and your night out with him at the Blind Rabbit.”

            Queenie responded by pelting Tina with a few marshmallows from the sugar bowl at the center of the table. (It was a Goldstein tradition NOT to keep sugar in the sugar bowl.) “Hush now, Porpentina, or I WILL make those marshmallows stick to your hair for THREE days instead of TWO!”

            Just as Tina was about to retaliate with a few marshmallow cannons of her own, the two witches were startled by a loud _tap-tap-tap_ on the kitchen windowpane. Tina stood and made her way to the window, her head cocked to the side in curiosity.

            “Reginald?” she murmured, opening the latch enough for a small tawny owl to alight upon her arm. He clacked his beak happily at being recognized and extended his left leg to her. She detached a shrunken letter from his leg before summoning an owl treat from a jar near the stove. The little owl took the treat in his mouth and immediately spat it out, giving Tina a disgusted glare as he did so.

            “Oh, you poor thing!” Queenie cooed as she reached out to pet him. “We haven’t had an owl drop by for months…those treats must be real stale.”

            “Mercy Lewis,” Tina breathed once she enlarged the letter. She recognized the seal it bore – a rose encased in flames – and was taken aback. Her eyes widened as she broke the seal and began reading the familiar slanted script on the page.

            Queenie didn’t bother to ask her sister about the contents of the letter. The words formed before her eyes as she easily entered Tina’s mind and followed along.

            _Tina,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other or even communicated so I apologize if this message is a bit too bold.  I need your help. I can’t stay in England a moment longer and have nowhere else to go. I’ve often thought about the few months I spent abroad with your family. I always felt safe with you and Queenie; something I really don’t feel here at home. May I come and stay with you for a few weeks? It will just be long enough to clear my head and gain a fresh perspective on life. I know this all sounds a bit random but I’d rather not explain my situation over owl post...with all that’s happened, I think it would be best if I explained in person. I hope to hear from you soon. Give my best to Queenie and make sure Reginald has a bit of water before he flies back._

_All the best,_

_Feather Firestone_

           

“Oh, Feather,” Queenie sighed. By this point, Reginald had climbed onto her shoulder and was napping quietly amidst her soft curls. “Teenie, we have to let her stay.”

Tina carefully refolded the letter, chewing over Feather’s words and her own before answering. “I’d like her to...”

“But—“

“—but if she really needs us, we might not be around to help her.” Tina dropped the letter on the dining table and crossed her arms before meeting her sister’s pleading gaze. “We’ve had so much going on at MACUSA, especially with trying to track down the source of all those violent attacks around the city. I’m barely home and you’re—“

“Always findin’ ways to BE home.”

“—true but –“

“Porpentina.” Queenie’s lilting voice was as hard as dragon scales. “You may be an Auror but I am NOT helpless. I can protect myself.”

Tina heaved a long, heavy sigh. _Of course_ Queenie would read her mind at that exact moment. Tina furiously rubbed at her eyes with her right thumb and forefinger.

“Queenie. I know you’re capable of handling yourself, but truth is it really isn’t safe for either of you to be here alone. For all we know a rogue wizard or witch or beast could be the cause of the attacks. And with the Second Salemers flaunting their propaganda on every street corner…”

Queenie gave a disbelieving snort at the mention of the New Salem Philanthropic Society. “Oh please, darling, those No-Majs are harmless! Most of their community don’t even believe a lick of what Mary Lou Barebones is preaching about.”

Her sister remained silent as she continued to rub her eyes. It was fruitless to fight Queenie when she had her mind set on something. Tina knew this conversation had only one resolution, and it wasn’t the one she favored. But Queenie’s heart, as usual, was in the right place.

“Feather is our friend, Teenie.”

Tina nodded slowly and raised her head. Her eyes rested on Feather’s letter then on her little sister and the sleeping tawny owl. She allowed herself a small smile as she responded with their parents’ most sacred advice on love.

“And we always take care of our friends.”


	3. Three

_Tap-tap-tap._

            A cold breeze wafted through a small London flat, bringing with it the refreshing smell of rain and a touch of frost. The flat was composed of one bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with a kitchenette in the far-left corner. Two large windows, one in the bedroom and the other next to the kitchenette, offered the only light in the flat, and it was dim at best. It was fairly clean, except for the massive stacks of parchment and books that littered the living room floor. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar but no one occupied the pristinely made bed at the center. In fact, several layers of dust covered the pillows and duvet. It was clear that the bed hadn’t been disturbed in some time.

            _Tap-tap-tap-tap._

            Outside the living room window hovered Reginald. He carried a small parcel in his beak and was frantically clawing at the windowpane. He was tired, hungry, and ready to give his mum a good, hard peck for taking so long to let him in.

“Five more minutes!” Feather groaned from beneath a tent of teal cushions. She was sprawled out on a teal love seat, her left leg thrown carelessly over the back and her right arm laying in a strange angle on the wooden floor. “This time…for sure…”

_TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!_

“UGH! FINE!” she growled while forcing herself upright, causing the cushion tent to collapse around her. She glared at the front door as if her gaze could magic away whomever or whatever was causing such a disturbance. However, after a few more tense seconds, the door neither swung open nor did another knock sound from behind it. “The hell?”

_TAP-TAP—_

“Oh shit! Reginald!” Feather did her best to detangle herself from the remaining cushions before crawling towards the window. She offered her messenger an apologetic smile as she unlatched the pane. “Sorry, love. It’s been a rough week…”

Reginald alighted on Feather’s hand and dropped the parcel into her palm. He looked up at her expectantly, deciding that two owl treats would be compensation enough for his hard work. His mum looked exhausted and he wasn’t in the mood to peck someone who didn’t have their wits about them.

“All right, you bugger. Two treats.” Feather ran a finger down Reginald’s back and grabbed two owl treats from the inner pocket of her robes. She scrunched up her nose at the sour smell that emanated from the pocket. Right. She hadn’t changed clothes in two days…or was it three? She reached into her other pocket, searching for her wand but, after a few moments, she stopped. A proper shower would be better than a magical one.

“But first…” she murmured, grasping the parcel in her left palm. “All right, Reg, let’s take a look at Tina’s answer.” She inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled, counting aloud until she ran out of breath. “Three-two-one…here we go.” After extracting the envelope from the parcel, she broke the seal and began to read.

_Feather,_

_It’s good to hear from you. Queenie and I are so sorry things haven’t been going well. We would love to have you stay with us for as long as you need. I’m sure we will see you within the next week or so. Your old bed will be ready for you when you get here. Also, Queenie thought you might need something to cheer you up. Enjoy!_

_Tina Goldstein_   
  


Feather’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t remember the last time such a wide smile graced her face. And…were those tears? Yes! Tears! She reached up to wipe her wet cheeks, stifling a small giggle.

 “Goodness. I never thought it’d feel this good to…to…cry…” Her watery gaze came to rest on the Goldstein sisters’ gift. In a few moments, the parcel was unwrapped and Feather was staring at the most beautiful almond strudel she’d ever seen in her life. It was covered in a thin layer of icing sugar and two apple roses. For the first time since her stay at St. Mungo’s, she felt hungry and willing to eat. “Thanks, Queenie,” she breathed, taking a moment to silently thank any deity that would listen for her generous friends. “So, Reginald, what do you think? Food first and then a shower or the other way ‘round?”

Reginald didn’t answer; instead, Feather was greeted by his soft snores. “All right, shower it is.” She patted him on the head, placed a slow Warming Charm on the strudel, and made her way to the bathroom where a hot shower awaited her. Her little messenger boy would need all the rest he could get before she bought her ticket.


	4. Four

It took a day or two for Feather to secure the steamboat ticket. Her departure was set for the end of the week. Barely able to contain her excitement and anxiety, she spent several days trying to keep herself busy (and calm) by packing and unpacking her suitcase, and dusting and re-dusting the furniture in her flat. She was quite sure that Reginald, who often perched on the back of the teal love seat to watch her furious cleaning, was suffering from whiplash. His head hadn’t stopped turning left and right since he delivered her ticket. The day before her departure, a fluffy white owl arrived bearing an envelope with the Goldstein seal and Queenie’s neat, loopy script.  

Tina lost her job at MACUSA’s Major Investigative Department. According to Queenie, her sister intervened during an altercation between Muggles – a mother and son – in front of a large group of their friends, devoted followers of some sort of cult. Needless to say, the _Obliviation_ process was far more trouble than it was worth. Tina was demoted to Queenie’s department, MACUSA’s Typing Pool at the Federal Wand Permit Office, and struggled to take her new position in stride. Feather wrote back, offering her condolences, a big hug, and a promise to make Tina’s favorite dessert when she arrived – pumpkin-apple pasties. She sent Queenie’s owl, Charlie, and Reginald back to New York together with her reply. She felt better knowing that her little messenger would be safe until she arrived.

About a week later, Feather stood on the edge of the world, grateful to finally be far away from the place she called home. Several years had passed since she’d travelled anywhere outside of England, especially by boat. The moment she stepped aboard she was determined to make the best of the journey, and now at its end, she allowed herself to be a bit…whimsical. She stood on the railing at the prow of the steamboat, arms outstretched towards the horizon. Her eyes were tightly shut against the sunlight and a small smile graced her face as the salt spray hit her lips. Perhaps she looked silly but it really didn’t matter. Freedom, in this moment, was much more important. She had been standing here for quite some time, enjoying the rise and fall of the boat as it cut through the crests of the Atlantic. So far Feather was able to balance on the rail. The boat hadn’t hit any large crests and she was fairly proud of her ability to stand without any extra support; but, just as all good things begin, they must come to an end.  

A giant crest appeared over the edge of the rail, right in front of the ship’s prow.

“Oh bloody—“

At the impact of the crest and the prow, Feather toppled off the railing, flapping and screaming all the while. She landed on the wooden deck with a resounding _BOOM!_ that startled several passengers who were taking a stroll about the ship.

“Oh my, child! Are you all right?”

An elderly woman with wispy grey hair and a thin, reedy voice rushed to her side. She frantically grabbed Feather’s arm, attempting to pull her up. Rather than bearing Feather’s weight to help her stand, the old woman did quite the opposite. Feather grit her teeth against the sharp pain of having her arm almost dislocated by this misguided good Samaritan.

“Y-Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” she gasped. She gently laid her hand over the old woman’s and patted it. “Just need a moment to catch my breath.”

The old woman nodded and squeezed Feather’s hand in return. “Be more careful, dear. You have so much life to live.”

A cold shock jolted up Feather’s spine at her words. She turned her head, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Those were the last words she expected anyone to say.

“Thank you.”

With another squeeze of Feather’s hand, the old woman turned and hobbled away.

The young witch’s gaze followed her retreating form. How could this woman possibly have known? A lump rose in her throat as her eyes began to water. Her body violently lurched forward and she put out her hands just in time to stop herself from hitting the deck face first. She barely noticed the creak of the floorboards as another person knelt down beside her.

“Um…hello.”

The voice was soft, gentle, and hesitant as if the owner feared to speak any louder in case he frightened her. _He._

Feather’s head shot up and her eyes immediately locked with a pair of green ones. The lump in her throat grew to an unbearable size and a suffocating tightness spread across her chest. She couldn’t find her voice; it vanished, along with her ability to breathe normally. She heard the gasps before she felt them, a familiar tearing sensation in her chest as if her lungs were fighting to break free from their bone cage. In a matter of seconds, the tearing and the gasping increased – her body’s vain attempt to bring in more oxygen. She lost contact with the pair of brilliant green eyes and forced herself to stare at the weather worn deck.

“Miss!”

A pair of hands firmly grasped her shoulders. They were gentle, just like his voice, and sturdy.

“Help…”

A series of images bombarded her vision – a mop of soft, thick hair woven loosely through her fingers; a red box covered in silver script; the dark October sky stretched out into infinity before the handle of her broomstick; the girl with the fierce, piercing voice screaming at the top of her lungs about how worthless and useless she was.

“Please…” Feather rasped. She reached up to grasp one of the hands on her shoulders. She held on as if his hand were the only thing tethering her to the ship and the reality that was quickly slipping away. He was her life line now, whether he liked it or not. “Please…count…for…me…”

She half expected him to push her away and start running like so many others had done. Thus, when he leaned in close and quietly began counting, Feather almost laughed aloud in disbelief.

“One-two-three-four.”

Feather squeezed his hand a little tighter, trying to ground herself further in the moment. If she was going to get through this episode, it was time to focus.

“Five-six-seven-eight...”

The cadence of his voice was steady and strangely comforting, like the rocking of the ship in the dead of night.

“…fifteen-sixteen-seventeen-eighteen...”

Feather forced her breathing to match the steady rhythm.  Every number corresponded with one breath. Soon enough the gasping slowed and the tightness in her chest began to fade.

“…twenty-eight-twenty-nine-thirty…”

She released his hand, finally able to ground herself without needing a tangible anchor. With every intake of air, she felt her lungs expand normally. Her vision cleared and she no longer saw the images that haunted her nightmares.

“…thirty-eight-thirty-nine-forty.”

“That’s enough,” Feather murmured, turning to fully look upon his face for the first time. A shock of messy copper red hair fell over his forehead, almost concealing the bridge of his nose and the crests of his cheeks. Most of his face was covered in freckles and a few sunburns. He wore a blue wool overcoat with an upturned collar, a finely pressed, fully buttoned white dress shirt, and a brown tweed vest. A thin blue bowtie completed his ensemble. He was strikingly handsome in a shy, boyish sort of way. “Thank you. Would you mind helping me stand?”

He met her gaze cautiously and offered her his arm. “Of course.”

Once Feather was back on her feet, she saw that a crowd had gathered around her and the young man. Men, women, and children whispered furiously amongst themselves, casting furtive, frightened glances their way.

She lifted her hands in mock surrender before them. “It’s all right, ladies and gentlemen. Just a mild emotional episode. Nothing to worry about. I thank you for your concern but—“

“There were sparks shootin’ out ya pocket!” cried a little boy standing at the front of the crowd. He pointed a chubby finger at Feather and looked around with a sly toothy grin, daring anyone to challenge what he saw.  “Look! She got a hole in it now!”

Feather’s hand dove into her coat pocket. To her dismay, the little boy was correct. A large hole was burned through it revealing the stub of her steamboat ticket and the end of her wand.

“Merlin’s bloody left sock,” she muttered, grasping the handle of her wand.

“Must have been the firecrackers, eh, Molly?”

Feather started at the young man’s voice. “What?”

He was looking at her, nodding slowly, hand also in his coat pocket. “The firecrackers Gran gave you for your birthday. I told you to put those in your case.”

“O-Oh yes,” she sputtered, finally catching on. “You were right, as usual, Frank. You know me though…just couldn’t wait to s-see them.” She took her hand out of her pocket and became very fascinated in smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her coat, trying not to groan aloud. Acting was NOT one of her strong suits.

“Well, Molly, I think we should be going, don’t you?” He leaned in close and whispered, “On ‘three’ we’ll _Obliviate_ them. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Are you sure it’ll be enough with just the two of us?”

A playful, confident smile danced on his lips. “I’m sure it will be.” He took her arm, leading her toward the middle of the crowd. The people scuttled apart like bugs, all except for the plucky little boy. When Feather and her companion pushed past him, he jumped on her and viciously pulled on her torn pocket.

“LOOK! SEE!” he cried, yanking the fabric until the pocket ripped off completely. The ticket stub fell to the floor. Luckily, Feather grabbed her wand before it also clattered to the ground.

“Hey! Get off!” She shoved the boy away and pointed the wand at his chest.

He stumbled backward, tripping over his feet. She cast a silent _Oblivate_ on him just before he hit the deck. And, just as quickly, she slid her wand into the sleeve of her coat.

The boy lay on his back, staring at the sky, dazed. He slowly sat up, wincing when his hand met the back of his head. “W-what happened…?”

Frantic murmurs spread throughout the remnants of the crowd who stayed to watch what conspired between Feather and the boy. In a matter of seconds, they surrounded Feather and her companion, pushing and shoving and demanding answers for the boy’s sudden bout of amnesia.

“I guess we should just say that’s ‘three,’ then?” Her companion raised his wand and looked at her pointedly, his eyes twinkling beneath his messy hair.

Feather felt her cheeks grow warm. She drew her wand. “I suppose so.”


	5. Five

Feather had to admit the young wizard was right; their joint efforts were more than enough to efficiently and quietly _Obliviate_ the crowd. They separated, the wizard to the right and Feather to the left, and circled the crowd, casting their Memory charms until they met again at their starting point. Both the wizard and witch breathed a sigh of relief as the crowd dispersed without looking at them.

            “At last.” Feather smiled up at him. “Thank you. You saved my life twice today.”

            He smiled in return, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red. “Well I wouldn’t say—um, you’re very welcome.”

            “Not many people would do what you’ve done,” Feather said. “Actually, most of them run away screaming.” She turned away from him to cast a silent _Reparo_ on her torn pocket and watched as the wool knit itself back together. “I’m in your debt.” She looked back to the wizard’s face and stuck out her right hand. “I’m Feather. Feather Firestone.”

            He took her hand and shook it gently. “Newt Scamander.”

            “Newt?”

            “Short for Newton,” he said, forcefully rubbing his nose. It was clear he wasn’t too fond of his given name.

            “It’s lovely. My parents also enjoyed eclectic names.”  Feather chuckled. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to assure people that ‘Yes, I’m Feather, like the ones on the end of a Hippogriff’s wing.’”

            Newt’s ears perked up like a cat’s at the mention of Hippogriffs. “My mother used to raise them…so I think that’s a fine way to remember your name.”

            Feather felt her cheeks grow warm for the second time that day. “Um…would you like to take a walk? Looks like we might be docking soon.”

            Rather than answer her question, Newt looked out over the railing of the ship. Indeed, the city of New York was growing closer by the second, emerging like a great giant from the morning fog. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I’ve got to run. Left my case…”

            “Oh! Do you need he—“ Feather asked, taking a step forward.

            “Sorry!” Newt turned on his heel and sprinted to the other end of the ship, the tails of his coat flapping behind him like wings.

            Feather had half a mind to follow him but refrained. It wouldn’t do well to scare a new acquaintance. She felt a familiar ache in her heart as she recalled Newt’s face. “He looks too much like _him_ anyway.”

            A piercing whistle cut through the air. Several passengers jumped at the sound while others rushed to the ship’s starboard railing. The ship had made its way through the harbor and was passing the Statute of Liberty. Feather stared up at the glorious green lady in awe. Even though this was her second time making the lady’s acquaintance, she found her all the more stunning. As the ship sailed on and Lady Liberty faded from view, the passengers rushed to gather their belongings. The more experienced travelers made their way to the gangways while others struggled to weave their way through the maze of bodies and baggage.

            Feather weaved her way through the crowd with little issue, all the while looking for Newt’s blue coat and rumpled copper hair, eventually finding herself at the entrance to one of the gangways. She didn’t spot him and, as the boat slowly docked, she reluctantly gave up her search. Reaching into her left pocket (the one that hadn’t been torn), she pulled out a battered grey suitcase the size of her palm. With a flick of her right hand, her wand emerged from its place in her coat sleeve. She pointed it at the case. “ _Engorgio._ ”

            The case grew to its original size just as the gangplank in front of her was pulled down onto the dock. For the final time the captain’s voice rang out above the passengers, “PLEASE DISEMBARK!”


	6. Six

Wizarding Customs was a bustling, overwhelming hodgepodge of people and baggage. There was hardly enough room stand up right, let alone breathe. Several Wizarding Officials in austere black trench coats darted around, struggling to guide the sluggish sea of people into five, orderly lines. Feather found herself at the center and was shoved towards the line for foreign travelers. She rolled her eyes, realizing that this line was the longest and the slowest. She glanced down at her left wrist to a silver watch with a thin band. 12:30PM. She wanted to get to the Goldsteins’ apartment as soon as possible. Angry rumbles from her stomach and soreness in the soles of her feet did nothing to help the situation.

            “Come on…” she groaned, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Move faster!” At her plea, the line shifted forward a few steps. She eagerly hopped forward, her suitcase swinging dangerously back and forth in her hand.

            _CLANG!_

            Feather jumped as her case made contact with something metallic behind her.

            “Hey! That’s not very nice!”

            Feather spun around and came face to face with a young witch holding a large, copper birdcage. Inside the cage, curled up in a tight ball, was a small, fluffy creature. It shivered as the girl holding the cage lifted it up to Feather’s eye level.

            “It’s not nice to hit people!” The little witch was swaddled in large purple robes, a knit lilac scarf, and an even larger wool hat. Only her eyes and round, chubby cheeks were visible over the cage. She glared so fiercely that Feather knew she’d be dead if looks could kill.

            “O-Oh…” Feather stammered. “I-I’m sorry.” She cocked her head toward the cage. “Is your…friend all right?”

            “This is Sir Harry the Portly and he’s s a Kneazle!” The little witch stood on her tiptoes, thrusting the case further into Feather’s face. “I’m sure once you apologize to his highness _then_ he’ll be all right!”

At her words, the Kneazle lifted its head and blinked sleepily. He was quite portly, as his name stated. Feather could hardly see his stubby legs beneath his girth. His fur was a rusty orange color dotted with a bit of grey. His eyes were a bright golden yellow and were set in a face that looked as though it’d been smacked repeatedly with _Hogwarts, A History_.

“Oh hello there, little baby!” Feather cooed, putting a hand against the cage. “Hedoooo!”

“AHEM!”

“Oh right, of course.” Feather cleared her throat and bowed her head, taking great care to catch Sir Harry’s eye. “My deepest apologies, your highness. I didn’t see you behind me.”

“And?”

“And I will be more careful with my case in the future.”  Feather lifted her head and patted the cage gently.

Sir Harry considered her for a moment, taking the time to slowly look her over. Then he opened his mouth in a gargantuan yawned and tucked his head beneath his tail.

“Well done!” The little witch hugged the cage closer to her chest. “Also, I think you should move up.”

            Feather looked back to where, previously, the line had seemed to stretch on into infinity. Now, a massive chasm opened between Feather and the desk of a Customs Wizard.

            “Merlin’s bloody—“ She stopped herself before finishing the sentence, the little witch’s laughter ringing in her ears. With a stiff smile, Feather turned and bolted to the desk.

\--

            “Identification card, please.”

            Feather handed the Customs Wizard a compact leather wallet.

            “Just tap the right pocket when you open it.”

            The wizard raised an eyebrow. He looked to be in his late 40’s to early 50’s and absolutely finished with this job. A much younger version of himself would have made a scalding comment on Feather’s impertinence. His current self couldn’t be bothered; so he flipped open the wallet and did as she said. A Ministry Standard Identification Packet immediately unwound itself from the pocket. A tiny, black and white likeness of the witch blinked back at the official as he read through each item to confirm her identity.

            “Feather Rose Lavender Firestone?”

            She nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

            “Date of birth, June 1903.”

            “June 19th, yes.”

            “British?”

            “Obviously.”

            “Length of your stay?”

            “About three to four weeks.”

            “Occupation?”

            She bit her lip as a shiver ran up her spine for the umpteenth time. This was the question she was loathe to answer. “I was an apprentice in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s Wizengamot Trial Division…but…”

            “But?”

            “I-I’m on a break,” she said. “V-Vacation of sorts.”

            The official’s eyebrow rose again but he made no further comment. “Wand permit?”

            “Left pocket.” She reached over and tapped it for him. She pulled her hand away hastily when she realized what she’d done. “E-Excuse me.”

            The official merely shrugged and looked over the small white square in the wallet’s left pocket. After confirming that she was indeed carrying an Ollivander made, larch wood, 10 ½ inch, unicorn hair core wand, he stamped the MACUSA seal and date onto her permit. “Anything edible or live in that case of yours?”

            She glanced down at the case, fully aware that he was casting a Detection Charm on it to confirm her answer. “No, sir.”

Satisfied with the result of the spell, he gestured for her to walk past him. “Welcome to New York.”

            Feather nodded her thanks, took her wallet, and quickly strode off toward the heart of the city.


	7. Seven

Much had changed in New York since Feather’s last trip. Dozens of motorcars and carriages spilled onto the streets, causing massive amounts of traffic everywhere. She couldn’t take a step without almost getting hit by a speeding car or towering horse. Even the people seemed to be obsessed with rushing to their next destination as quickly as possible. She watched several men and women bolt across the streets without waiting for oncoming traffic to pass, each of them narrowly escaping the throes of Death.  Getting to the Goldsteins’ brownstone the Muggle way was definitely out of the question. Unfortunately, Feather was not in the ideal condition to Apparate. The docks were closest to Chelsea which, if memory served her correctly, wasn’t too far from to the sisters’ home on West 24th Street. Since her hospitalization, Feather was under strict orders to only Apparate to her flat and St. Mungo’s. She was terribly out of practice. Splinching was almost inevitable if she wasn’t careful, even at so short a distance.

            “And this isn’t the time to see if I’ve improved,” she muttered, glancing at her watch. 1:30PM. Thirty minutes past lunchtime. Another loud, angry rumble sounded in her stomach. She needed to find her bearings (and a sandwich) as soon as possible. She was currently at Pier 57 and could see people bustling along 11th Street. She shrunk her case, placed it in her coat, and took a few more steps forward but stopped as she noticed the street signs. The numbers increased to the north and decreased to the south. She almost kicked herself for not remembering that simple fact about New York’s grid-like streets. With a huff, she began stomping her way up 11th Street.

\--

            On the corner of 11th and 20th Street, Feather’s stomach began to rebel. She hadn’t had anything to eat since early that morning in the ship’s mess hall. The episode she had onboard had also drained her of any remaining strength. Feeling more than a bit queasy, she set out to find sustenance. A lovely smell wafted through the air – caramelized onions, toasted bread, and sizzling meat – that caused Feather’s mouth to water and her nose to perk up. Rounding the corner on 20th, she saw a wooden cart with the words FRESH HOT DOGS written across the top in gold lettering.

            “Not a sandwich,” she said with a shrug. “But it’ll do.”

            A line of six people stood by the cart, shivering and staring hungrily at the man standing behind the cart. He was a portly gentleman with dark hair and a messenger cap. He whistled an old sailor’s shanty as he tended the grill.

            “Just a few more minutes, ladies and gents!” he called, stuffing a toasted bun with onions.

            Feather practically skipped across the street to the end of the line and watched as the chef behind the cart filled orders. When she came before him, a bright smile lit up his face. In fact, it was the first ray of light she’d seen on the drab New York streets.

            “What’ll it be, my dear?”

            “Um…one, please,” she said, scanning all the different condiments set up in front of the grill. “With those amazing onions, some relish, and…a touch of mustard and ketchup.”

            “You’ve got it!” He turned back to the grill and began to fill her order.

            Feather took the opportunity to peer behind the cart at the people bustling about. Families were taking advantage of a bakery on the opposite street. Several small children were running about with gooey confections in their hands as their mothers and fathers puddled around the store. A group of boys were kicking around what looked to be a giant spotted Quaffle in the middle of the street. It was a beautiful day, despite the cold and the clouds covering the sun. However, there was something curious about the corner of 21st street, a block over. Feather noticed that no matter who passed on the street, they all avoided that corner, particularly the young man standing there. He was dressed all in black and held a stack of papers in his hands. His trousers were cut above the ankles and his jacket were too small for him.

            “Here you are, dear. One of the best wieners this side of the city!” The cheery chef handed her a hot dog piled high with caramelized onions and Feather’s chosen condiments.

            “Thank you.” She handed him a wad of bills without counting them. He was nice enough so she was fine with overpaying him. “By the way, who is that?”

            The chef followed her gaze to the corner of 21st Street and heaved a sigh. “He’s one of them Second Salem kids. Some group that thinks witches are overrunning the city.”

            Feather choked, nearly spitting out her first bite of hot dog. “W-Witches?”

            “I know, crazy right?” he said, shaking his head. “He and the other kiddos stand on that corner every day for at least five hours. Those poor kids. They definitely deserve better than old Mary Lou. Barely feeds them, I hear.”

            “Oh my! That’s terrible,” she said, glancing at the boy on the corner. It was difficult to believe that he was on a vendetta against the Wizarding World. Being frightened of him was a ridiculous notion that she refused to entertain. Feather continued to watch him and nibbled on her hot dog thoughtfully. “Um, excuse me, sir?”

            The chef paused in the middle of adding more onions onto the grill. “’Course, hon. What can I do for ya?”

            “Do you think I could have another one of these?” She held her lunch aloft. “I’m willing to pay you more for it.”

            A chuckle rumbled in the chef’s chest. “Darlin’, you’ve paid me more than enough. Don’t worry about it.” He handed her a fully made, steaming hot dog. “Be sure to wish that boy well from me too.”

            Feather nodded her thanks (as she was busy stuffing her face) and made her way to 21st Street.

\--

            Up close, the young man was gaunter and more haggard than anyone she’d ever seen. His shoulders slumped so much that he looked like a modern Atlas bearing a crushing unseen weight. His back was to Feather as he wordlessly held out one of the papers to another passerby.

            She mustered up her courage and gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Hello there.”

            He spun around, his eyes wide with fear, the stack of papers clutched to his chest, his left hand extended toward her, palm out like a shield.

            “Don’t be afraid,” she said softly, trying to catch his frightened eye. “I noticed you across the street and thought you might need some lunch.” She took his hand in her free one and placed the hot dog in it.

            He blinked a few times, as if to assure himself that she wasn’t a figure of his imagination. The stack of papers fell to the floor as his other hand reached up to hold the hot dog as well. “Y-you didn’t have to…” he whispered, bowing his head. “I-I don’t e-even know you…”

            “That’s all right,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t know you either, but that’s not as important as having lunch.”

            A ghost of a smile appeared on the young man’s lips. “T-Thank you. Most people aren’t so kind.”

            “You’re welcome. Please, eat.”

            He devoured the hot dog in a few bites, smearing mustard all over his mouth. Poor thing really hadn’t eaten a proper meal in ages.

            Feather put her hands behind her back, flicked out her wand and conjured a handkerchief. She put her wand back into her sleeve and offered him the piece of cloth. He took it sheepishly and fiercely rubbed his lips and cheeks.

            “Please, keep it,” Feather said as he tried to hand it back to her. “Did you like it?”

            “Y-Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “Best thing I’ve had all week.”

            She tried not to cringe at his statement and reached down to pick up the fallen stack of papers. “I’m glad. It seems you’ve had quite the day.”

            “It’s really not as good as it could be,” he said, taking the stack from her arms. “I can do better.”

            “Well, try not to work too hard,” Feather said as she stood. “It’s a lovely day. You should go and enjoy it.” She glanced at her watch again. 2:15PM. “I’m so sorry, but I really must be going.”

            He nodded, tucking the handkerchief into his pocket. “T-Thank you again. May your day be blessed, ma’am.”

            “It was lovely to meet you.” Feather smiled and took his hand, shaking it firmly. “I’m Feather, by the way.”

            He grasped her hand as if he’d never let it go. “I’m Credence.”


	8. Eight

Three blocks and ten minutes later, Feather finally reached 24th Street. She could have kissed the concrete beneath her feet. The brownstones, wooden apartments, and steel balconies that lined the street were more than familiar to her. A rainbow of bicycles leaned lazily against the brick buildings while several motorcars stood at attention in front of them. An open-bed moving truck piled high with wooden crates was parked in front of an office building on the left. There weren’t many people about but those who were vaguely recognized the young witch. As she skipped to the edge of the pavement, a few older men tipped their hats to her and she waved back enthusiastically. She stopped in front of a particularly weathered brownstone with black iron letters nailed to the stone doorframe – 679. She was home.

            She reached into her pocket and pulled out her case. Once it was enlarged she climbed the stone steps and knocked (more like pounded) on the front door.

            “I’m coming! I’m coming!” called a muffled, angry voice from the opposite side of the door.

            Feather burst into massive bout of the giggles as the door flew open to reveal a particularly miffed, dark skinned middle-aged woman with wild, frizzy black hair. When she and Feather made eye contact, her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

            “Oh my stars! Fire Girl, is that you?!”

            “The one and only, Mrs. Esposito!” Feather cried, dropping her case and raising her arms to embrace the Goldstein sisters’ landlady.

            “Goodness, child!” Mrs. Caroline Esposito cried in kind, squeezing the young witch as hard as she could. “It’s been so long! Years!”

            Feather pulled away put kept her arms around the older woman. “I know. And life has been so kind to you, darling. Look at how lovely you are!”

            “You’re too sweet!” Mrs. Esposito flicked Feather’s nose and gave a hearty, belly laugh that shook the foundations of the brownstone around them. “Why in the world are you here? I thought you went home to finish training or whatever have you.”

            The smile fell from Feather’s face. She pulled farther away from Mrs. Esposito until only the woman’s hands rested in hers. “’It’s been a rough few years, ma’am. Things…things didn’t work out as I’d planned…that’s why I’m here. To start over.”

            The older woman pulled her into another embrace. “It’s going to be all right, child. You’re strong and brave and made of fire.”

            “Thank you,” Feather whispered, blinking back tears. She hadn’t expected such kindness and encouragement; not after the many things she had seen and heard the past few months. After she dried her tears, Feather grabbed her case with one hand and squeezed Mrs. Esposito’s hand with the other. “Do you know if the Goldstein sisters are home?”

            Mrs. Esposito hummed softly in thought. She briefly glanced behind her but no one appeared. “Well, dear, I saw Miss Tina leave early this morning but haven’t seen a bit of Miss Queenie all day.”

            “Oh that’s all right,” Feather said, squinting up at the many grimy windows embedded in the building’s side. “I’m sure Queenie is just napping or something. And if she’s not…well, I’m sure they keep the spare key in the same place.”

            Mrs. Esposito raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She merely stepped aside and allowed Feather to enter. The first-floor landing was narrow and quite tight. Two coat racks flanked the bottom of the winding stair case that led to the brownstone’s apartments. They were empty, save for an umbrella or two. A threadbare woolen rug with triangular patterns was spread out across the floor. A fresh layer of dust and grime coated everything in the room, no doubt the result of a week’s worth of traffic.

            “I’m sure you remember what floor they’re on?” Mrs. Esposito asked, placing a hand on the banister of the stairs.

            “Yes. Oh and this is for you.” Feather reached into her pocket and pulled out another wad of bills. “I’ll be here for about a month or so. Here’s my portion of the rent and, if there’s a bit too much, please put it towards Tina and Queenie’s payments.”

            “Darlin’…you didn’t have to—“

            “Please.” Feather placed the bills in the landlady’s hand and closed her fingers around them. “I insist.”

            “You’re too good,” Mrs. Esposito said.

            Feather shook her head and began climbing the stairs. “Not as good as you are, ma’am.”

\--

            Third floor, second door on the right. Such an unassuming thing, really, a scratched up wooden door with a squeaky brass hinge. To Feather, however, it was the portal to another world, a beautiful life that she never thought she could be a part of; yet, once she was inside, she would be. The Goldstein sisters gave her a home when she had none, and companionship when she was lonely. America was a cruel and terrifying place until the two witches showed her how vibrant and beautiful it could be. Now all that was left was to step through.

            Feather slid her wand out of her sleeve. “Let’s see if you _are_ home, Queenie dear.” She pointed it at the door’s brass knob. “ _Alohomora_.” There was a tiny click as the lock slid out of place. “Yes. Definitely here, aren’t you, love?”

            “Of course I am, honey!”

            Feather nearly fell over as Queenie Goldstein’s beaming countenance appeared at the door. She was just as radiant as Feather remembered, a scintillating star of a witch. Her curly blonde locks were pulled away from her face by a pink headband and she wore a light nightdress and robe with black lace appliques. A pair of soft slippers graced her feet. She looked perfectly at home, not just in the apartment but in her own skin.

            “You didn’t think I woulda left you to fend for yourself, did ya?” quipped Queenie, opening the door wide enough for Feather to step in.

            “Of course not, darling,” Feather said, playfully pushing past her to remove her coat and place her case on the ground. “I thought you might just sleep through my whole visit.”

            “Feather Rose, how sassy you’ve become!” Queenie shut the door just as Feather hung her coat on the nearby rack, and promptly spun the other witch around to face her. “Let me look at you. It’s been so long!”

            Feather met Queenie’s hungry gaze and felt the blonde witch’s mind meld with hers. She did not fight Queenie’s invasion but, rather, welcomed it. For so long she’d spent hours explaining every thought, every emotion, every experience that she’d lived through to strangers and loved ones alike. It was a relief to have someone know her innermost secrets without having to utter a word. Without hesitation, she allowed Queenie to see the most significant (and painful) moments of the past three years. The memories flew through their minds like leaves on the wind, fluttering by quickly but pausing just enough to be noticed. By the end of their exchange, both witches were on the verge of tears.

            “I-I…I-I…” Feather blubbered, unable to force her lips to form coherent words. “I…”

            “Shhh.” Queenie murmured, taking Feather in her arms. “I know, honey. I’m so sorry.”

            They held each other for a long while. It is so rare to find someone who is unselfishly willing to help bear your grief. Feather had spent the majority of three years grieving alone. Although, here and there others offered their shoulders to cry on and their ears to listen, their patience and understanding often ran dry very quickly. The same could never be said for Queenie Goldstein, at least according to Feather Firestone. Queenie was far _too_ compassionate and understanding, the result of much reflection on her own personal tragedies. She once told Feather that being a Legilimens was more a blessing than a curse.

“Keeps me humble,” she said, matter-of-factly. “And reminds me that everyone’s always in need of a little love. That’s the important thing.”

As she clutched Queenie tighter, Feather realized what she had been searching for in the weeks since her hospitalization – someone to remind her that she was loved. She gladly melted into her friend’s embrace, finally allowing herself to release her pain and revel in the first loving contact she’d had in months; while Queenie stroked her hair, humming one of her mother’s favorite lullabies. When Feather’s sobs faded to light hiccups, Queenie drew back and held her friend’s face in her hands.

            “I’m here, honey,” she said, brushing away the last of Feather’s tears. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You’re safe. Tina and me. We’ll look after you.”

            “I-I know.” Feather sniffled and gave Queenie a watery grin. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.” Before Queenie completely pulled away, Feather leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek. “Thank you. This is the lightest I’ve felt in ages.”

            “You’re welcome,” Queenie said, dropping her hands. “Now, did you wanna freshen up? Mama’s couch is all ready for you.”

            “Don’t think I can bathe on the couch,” Feather said, reaching down to pick up her case. With a skip in her step, she began walking towards said piece of furniture. “But I’m sure the shower in your bathroom will do.”

            “Oh my Morrigan!” Queenie gasped, dramatically bringing a hand to her throat. “Well then I’ll have to _try real hard_ not to keep ya waitin’!” With a wink, she Apparated to the bathroom.

            “That’s not fair, Queenie!” Feather groaned as she heard the squeak of the shower knobs followed by a rush of water. “You have ten minutes before I pull you out of there!”

            The only response was Queenie’s light humming and the metallic sound of the shower curtain drawing closed.

            Feather rolled her eyes and set her case on the ground in front of Mrs. Goldstein’s couch. It was the original inspiration for Feather’s own teal couch at home. Of course, it was far older and more threadbare but it carried a charm and comfort her replica could never fully duplicate. The unassuming piece of furniture had survived several glittering dinner parties, storybook readings, and restless, tear-filled nights. Every crease and loose thread was a testament to its long history and resilience. It was also extremely comfortable and springy. One of the sisters (most likely Tina) had left two down pillows and a matching teal duvet atop the couch. Feather reached over to fold the duvet and found that someone else had made her ‘bed’ his own. Snuggled into the very back of the couch and snoring softly with his head tucked under his wing was Reginald.

            “Reggie!” Feather whispered, giddy with excitement at seeing her little messenger boy.

            Reginald didn’t stir but rather snored even more loudly than before.

            Feather considered poking him a few times to see if he’d awaken, but decided against the idea, choosing instead to take a turn about the apartment.

Unlike the city outside, the Goldstein sisters’ abode was perpetually stuck in the early 20th century and hadn’t changed a bit since Feather’s last visit. It consisted of two rooms and one bathroom. The largest room was both the living and dining area with the Goldstein parents’ heirloom pieces of Victorian-style furniture – the china cabinets, the oak dining table and chairs, a worn, grey armchair, and, of course, the teal love seat – as its the centerpieces. To the right of the dining table was the old iron stove, complete with a tea kettle and a few pots and pans, a wooden tabletop that doubled as a cutting board, and a pink ceramic washbasin. Next to the couch stood the gaping marble fireplace that, at the moment, only sported a few glowing embers. The girls’ drying racks, currently empty of any washing, floated listlessly in front of it.

            “It is a bit chilly in here…” Feather muttered and pointed her wand at the last smoldering pieces of wood in the dying fire. “ _Incendio_.”

            A tiny spark shot from the end of her wand into the embers. Soon enough a sizeable flame danced merrily inside the fireplace, spreading warmth throughout the apartment. Feather turned to make her way towards the girls’ shared bedroom and found that the sliding wooden pocket doors were tightly shut. After a moment, she realized she no longer heard rushing water nor Queenie’s lilting hum.

            “Be out in a moment, hon!” the blonde witch called.

            “Finally!” Feather smirked. “Your ten minutes were over a while ago!”

            “Were not!”

            “Were too!” Feather knelt in front of her case and opened it. She pulled out a bundle of clothes and toiletries before shutting it again. At the sound of one of the pocket doors sliding open, she looked up to see Queenie leaning nonchalantly against them, wearing the same outfit as before.

            “I was wondering why those doors were closed,” Feather said as she stood with her bundle of things.

            “It’s laundry day, honey,” Queenie said, tapping her wand to her still damp hair. Immediately, the soggy clump fluffed up into her signature curly bob, completely dry and slightly shimmering. “You know how that goes in this house.”

            Behind Queenie, where the girls’ twin beds usually stood, were three very large tin tubs. One tub was filled to the brim with dirty laundry, a second warm water and soap for scrubbing, and the third clear water for rinsing. At Queenie’s command, an article of clothing (one of Tina’s white work blouses) rose from the first tub and plopped into the second to be furiously scrubbed. After scrubbing, it jumped into the third tub, rolled around a bit, and wrung itself dry. The blouse then floated to the living room and rested on one of the drying racks in front of the fire. The sisters’ laundry routine seemed fairly simple, except for one small thing.

            Feather readjusted the bundle in her arms and stifled a laugh. She watched as Queenie summoned a midnight blue silk dress to go through the cycle. “I do remember, Miss Goldstein, and I am more than ready.”

            “Oh Miss Firestone, I don’t think so.” Queenie’s bright blue eyes followed the dress as it floated out of the third bucket, still dripping profusely. “I already know you Apparatin’ is outta the question.”

            “Then you’ll just have to catch me first!” Without hesitation, Feather ran to the bathroom, screaming as Queenie’s soaking wet dress came crashing down on her head.

            Queenie’s tinkling laughter followed Feather until she shut the door of the bathroom none-too-gently. “Better luck next time, sweetheart!”


	9. Nine

Feather was curled up in a ball on the floor of the shower, absently gathering the falling water in her hands.

He was here.

The moment the stinging, hot water touched her skin his face appeared in the spray. That beautiful, terrible face. It haunted her dreams and almost every waking thought. His voice floated through her mind, promising her all the things she ever wanted. She wanted to hold him, to cling to the reassurances he had given her. They all seemed so right, so perfect, so real. The longer she sat, the more vivid her vision of him became. She squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars, trying hard not to scream. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t want this. But, oh, how everything in her raged against that resolve! It wasn’t fair! Leaving home was supposed to help her forget. Rediscovering New York City was supposed to replace her memories of doing the same with him in London. He wasn’t supposed to matter anymore. Queenie’s soothing voice and the Goldsteins’ warm, cozy apartment had given her hope. She was almost back from the brink; now she was back to square one.

            “I can be brave,” she whispered, hugging her knees closer to her chest. “I can be brave. I can be brave. I can be brave…”

            Five minutes. That’s what the healers would tell her in this situation. Five more minutes to wallow then she needed to stand. She was going to cut that time in half. Well, she at least she needed to try.

            “I can be brave. I can be brave. I can be brave.”

            Shaking from head to toe, Feather reached up to the shower knobs and shut off the tap. Slowly, she stood and grabbed her wand from where she left it on the sink. She tapped her hair, charming it into a dry, low bun. Then she tapped her shoulders, sending a Warming Charm across her skin before summoning her clothes from where they rested on the toilet. She dressed carefully, taking the time to adjust and readjust every piece of clothing until her racing heartbeat finally began to slow. When she was ready, she stood in front of the looking glass hanging above the sink. Her eyes were a bit red and her cheeks a bit flushed but, otherwise, she looked presentable. Yes, perfectly presentable.

            “I can be brave,” she said, gathering her dirty clothes and toiletries before turning the doorknob. “I can be brave.”

            A delicious, mouth-watering smell met Feather as the bathroom door opened. She guessed that Tina had returned if that divine smell was (as she hoped it would be) their dinner. The sisters almost never cooked or baked apart from one another. Feather’s heart lightened a bit at the thought of seeing the older Goldstein sister. She did, after all, owe Tina some pumpkin-apple pasties and a hug. She turned towards the kitchen and nearly dropped her bundle of things.

            The Goldstein sisters were positioned in front of the iron stove as plates, napkins, and ingredients zoomed through the air around them. They were facing two men, one of whom Feather recognized instantly.

            “Hey, Mr. Scamander,” she heard Queenie say, “do you prefer pie or strudel?”

            Newt Scamander stood awkwardly beside the front door, a beaten, brown leather suitcase in hand. He fidgeted beneath Queenie’s kind yet expectant gaze as he answered. “I don’t really have a preference.”

            While he spoke, the second man, a portly fellow with a moustache, slid into one of the seats at the table. He looked to be almost stuffed into his ill-fitting tweed suit. Sweat poured down his face in large droplets and he panted a bit. Beneath his collar, on the left side of his neck, was a slightly bloody, crescent shaped bite. He didn’t take his eyes off Queenie as he tucked a napkin into his shirt.

            “You prefer strudel, huh, honey?” she said to him with a wink.

            He nodded enthusiastically.

            “Strudel it is!” With practiced precision, she crafted her famous almond-raisin strudel seemingly out of thin air. As the food and silverware took their places at the table, Tina addressed Newt who still hovered at the door, looking on at the meal with a bemused expression.

            “Well, sit down, Mr. Scamander,” she said. “We’re not gonna poison you.”

            After a particularly pointed look from the portly man, Newt carefully put down his case and took a seat in the chair closest to the front door.

            “Let’s wait for Feather before we start, Teenie,” Queenie said, summoning another chair to the table. “She should be out any minute.”

            “I’m already here,” Feather said, her voice low as she stepped more fully into the room. She clutched the bundle of clothes and toiletries closer to her chest as all the heads turned to face her. “Hello everyone.”

            “Feather.”

            “Miss Firestone?”

            Tina and Newt spoke simultaneously, both their voices laced with surprise and a touch of relief.

Feather, unsure who to answer first, paused for a moment before looking to Tina. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Tina’s lips split into a small, loving smile as she reached out to pat Feather’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you too, Feather.” Although she and Tina weren’t as close as she and Queenie, Feather felt herself relax at Tina’s touch. The older witch dropped her hand from Feather’s shoulder as she remembered that Newt had spoken as well. “Do you know Mr. Scamander?”

Feather and Newt made eye contact. He raised his hand and waved it a little in greeting.

“Yes,” Feather replied, returning the gesture as best she could with the bundle in her arms. “We met on the ship this morning. Hello again, Mr. Scamander. What a happy coincidence to see you here.”

Newt’s ears reddened at her comment and he lowered his head, just enough to allow his messy russet hair to shield his eyes. “Indeed.”

Queenie stifled a giggle as Feather felt her probe for the memory of her first meeting with Mr. Scamander. She restrained herself from burying her head into the clothes bundle when she realized that Queenie knew just how attracted to him she was.

“My what a meeting that was, huh, honey?”

“Queenie!” Tina hissed. She gave Feather an apologetic look before nodding towards the other gentleman at the table. “This is Jacob Kowalski. He’s a No-Maj.”

“Oh my!” Feather uttered, her eyes widening in shock. She was fully aware of the United States Wizarding Community’s overly negative attitudes towards Muggles. If Tina had brought one home that could mean severe consequences for all of them, not to mention certain _Obliviation_ for their new acquaintance. Something had happened, something very serious, and, probably, very dangerous. But, whatever it was, it didn’t outweigh the importance of decorum.

“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Kowalski.”

Jacob blinked a few times before extending his hand to Feather. “Same to you, Miss--?”

“Feather Firestone.” She smirked at his quizzical expression. “Yes, ‘Feather.’ Like the ones on the end of a bird’s wing.” She lifted the bundle in her arms a little higher. “I’d shake your hand but…”

“It’s all right...Feather,” Jacob answered, bashfully pulling back his hand. “It’s great to meet ya. You can call me Jacob.”

Feather smiled at him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Sure, Jacob.”

Newt glanced up at Feather, quite impressed with the explanation of her name. Jacob hadn’t met any Hippogriffs before so she was right to adjust her vocabulary.

Next to him, Queenie daintily took a sip of water from her glass and placed a mental tab on his thought as it flowed through her mind.

“All right, so that takes care of introductions.” Tina gestured to the empty seat at the table, between Newt and Jacob. “Put your things away and have a seat, Feather.” As Feather moved to do so, she leaned in close and whispered, “I promise I’ll explain everything later.”

“You better!” Feather answered. Clearly this evening was going to be far more interesting than she originally thought.

\--

Although Feather had been very curious to know why Newt and Jacob had come to dinner, all her questions were silenced once she filled her plate. Queenie and Tina were ridiculously talented cooks and, although she’d never admit it, Feather had forgotten just _how_ talented they were. Her plate was refilled twice before she even realized what the rest of the company was doing. Queenie and Jacob were barely able to stay in their seats. They were speaking animatedly about the girls’ jobs at MACUSA, leaning far into the table towards each other, while Tina and Newt remained silent, casting uncomfortable glances at each other in the face of such open affection.

Feather took her last bite of Queenie’s heavenly strudel as a melodious laugh fell from Queenie’s lips.

“Oh, you slay me!” Queenie squealed, clapping her hands together. She propped her chin on one of her palms, head tilting slightly as she stared at Jacob, completely enraptured. “I ain’t never really talked to a No-Maj before.”

Jacob copied her pose, completely lost in Queenie’s gaze. “Really?”

Feather raised her water glass to her lips, being sure to keep it close to her mouth as she continued to watch their exchange. She remembered what it felt like to connect with someone so much and so quickly. Her lip twitched as the image of herself and the man who broke her heart overshadowed Queenie and Jacob. Her chest began to constrict again and she wasn’t able to distinguish between the water in the glass and the tears in her eyes.

“I just meant don’t go getting attached,” she heard Tina say. “He’s going to have to be _Obliviated_!” Turning to Jacob she muttered, “It’s nothing personal.”

Oh right, there’s that. The images disappeared from Feather’s vision to be replaced with Jacob’s confused, and slightly frightened glance at Tina, and Queenie’s crestfallen expression. Poor things.

Suddenly, Jacob broke out into a sweat again and tugged hard on his collar.

“Oh hey, you okay, honey?” Queenie asked, rising from her seat.

“Here, have a bit of water, Jacob.” Feather tapped the pitcher of water in front of her with her wand. It floated to Jacob’s glass and refilled it.

Jacob shook his head, batting the glass away while trying to smother a cough.

Abruptly, Newt stood from his seat, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the wood. “Miss Goldstein,” he said, addressing Tina. “I think Mr. Kowalski could do with an early night.” He gripped the back of the chair and swayed back and forth on his heels. “And besides, you and I will need to be up early tomorrow to find my Niffler so –“

“What’s a Niffler?” Queenie and Feather asked, the latter staring up and Newt and the former at Tina.

“Don’t ask,” Tina responded with a huff, turning towards her bedroom. The tin tubs and the mountain of laundry were gone, replaced by the girls’ twin beds and an ironing board with Queenie’s pink robe still being pressed.

“You guys can bunk in here.” Tina pointed to the two beds, addressing Newt and Jacob. “Queenie, we’ll stretch out Mama’s couch so we can stay with Feather.”

“Sure, Teenie. Not a problem.” Queenie stood from her seat while gesturing to the places at the table. “Feather?”

“I’ve got it, love.” Feather also stood from her seat. “Gentlemen, would you mind moving to the bedroom so I can wash up?”

“Oh…yeah…sure!” Jacob said, rising from his seat. As he did so he lurched forward, nearly falling into the last piece of Queenie’s strudel. Feather grabbed his left arm while Newt grabbed his right. “It’s okay, guys…”

“Just take it slow, Mr. Kowalski.” Newt nodded to Feather, signaling her to help him shuffle Jacob past the chairs and into the room. “One step at a time.”

Soon enough, Jacob was comfortably tucked into Queenie’s bed, surrounded by pink pillows, blankets, and a silk duvet. He looked a bit worse for wear and a little nervous at his renewed sweating and twitching, so Feather found him a book to read. It was Queenie’s favorite – _Cassandra and her Cat Gustavus_. He was currently trying to follow the sketch of Gustavus with his finger as the ginger feline bounded across the cover.

Newt walked back around the table to fetch his case while Feather summoned the dishes for cleaning. Before he brushed past her into the bedroom, without thinking, she gently grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

“Yes?”

Feather stared at the sleeve and her hand in disbelief. Why in the world did she do that?

“I-I…um…” she hastily dropped his sleeve and backed into a plate hovering patiently over the sink for its turn to wash. It fell to the floor with a loud _crash!_

“Oh Merlin! I’m so sorry, Mr. Scamander.” Feather fell to her knees next to the broken shards of the plate. “I don’t know why I –“ She couldn’t go on.  Her train of thought stopped without any destination. Her hands shook violently as she tried, instead, to pick up the shards.

“It’s all right,” said Newt, kneeling down next to her. He wasn’t a stranger to sometimes making the most awkward move nor to having his tongue tied. He offered her his hand and she took it. As he helped her stand, he pointed his wand at the shards. “ _Reparo.”_ The plate sprang back to its original shape and floated to the china cabinet to take its proper place.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Scamander,” Feather whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“As I said, nothing to worry about, Miss Firestone.”

“Feather? You okay?” Tina appeared at her elbow as Newt released her hand and made his way to the bedroom.

“Y-Yes. I’m fine, Tina. Thanks.” She wiped her hands on her skirt, trying to ignore the warmth from Newt’s hand that lingered on her fingers. “I’ll just finish washing up and I’ll see what the two of you have done to my bed.”

“Feather.” Tina’s voice was soft and gentle. Feather knew that tone. Tina was, at times, far too motherly for her own good.

“I’m _fine_!”

“Feather,” Tina said again more forcefully. “I promised to tell you everything and I will. Would you please do the same for me?”

“I said I would in my letter,” Feather replied, making a point to focus on the final pieces of silverware drying themselves. “To be honest, I’m terrified of what you’ll say.” Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper by the end of the sentence.

Tina sighed, unable to find the words to reassure her friend. It was impossible to know how she would react to something she didn’t already know. She reached for Feather’s hand but did not take it. At a loss, she decided to do the only thing that felt right. “I’ll get changed and make us some hot cocoa.”

 As Tina moved away, Queenie took her place. She was already dressed in her pajamas – a light pink dressing gown with her soft slippers. Feather knew she had overheard the previous conversation (or had already read their thoughts). Without a word, Queenie waved her wand and all the remaining dishware tucked themselves away in their respective spots. The tablecloth, which had been folding itself, flew to the linen cupboard.

“Feather,” Queenie said. “You need to have a little more faith in her.”

Feather couldn’t look at her. Queenie was right. She had, after all, been the one to ask if she could stay. Tina was opening her home and her heart to the lost, broken witch; the least Feather could do was to give her the benefit of the doubt and a little more trust.

“Your fear is understandable, honey, but there’s more to life than holdin’ onto it.” She took Feather’s elbow and guided her towards the teal couch where Reginald and Charlie perched, preening their feathers. “C’mon. Get ready for bed. Teenie’s just about finished.”

As if on cue, Tina rounded the corner down the hall, dressed in her long-sleeved pajamas and a pair of comfortable slippers. She made a beeline for the kitchen to start the cocoa, barely sparing a glance at her sister and Feather.

Feather’s heart fell straight into the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was make Tina feel inadequate and misunderstood; unfortunately, it seemed she’d already failed on that front. She summoned her pajamas from her case and pattered down the hall to the bathroom, trying to rein in her fear and trepidation.


	10. Ten

Feather and Queenie were curled up on the couch under the teal duvet with steaming cups of cocoa when Tina returned from delivering hot drinks to the gentlemen. The sisters had enlarged the couch cushions – shooing two rather grumpy owls out to hunt as they did so – until they created a bed big enough for all three girls to lie on comfortably together. It was a bit of a tight fit but the night was quite cold so they didn’t mind the extra warmth.

“At least Mr. Kowalski likes his cocoa,” Tina muttered as she plopped down onto the empty space next to Feather on the ‘bed.’

“Aw, was Mr. Scamander not interested?” Queenie questioned, taking another sip from her cup.

Tina rolled her eyes and waved away Queenie’s question. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just bein’ difficult.” She also took a sip of cocoa as she addressed Feather. “Now, do you want to go first or should I?”

Feather hesitated, glancing up at Tina who peered at her expectantly over the rim of her mug. Now was the time to swallow the fear; now before she lost her nerve. “I-I’ll go first, Tina.” After passing her mug to Queenie (who charmed it to float above their heads), Feather sat a little straighter and pulled a pillow across her stomach like a shield. “Merlin, I hardly know where to begin…”

“Start with your apprenticeship at the Ministry,” Queenie said, placing a hand on Feather’s knee. “That’s a good place.”

“All right.” Feather took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Shortly after I returned from New York three years ago, I applied for an apprenticeship at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a clerical position, nothing too difficult. I figured it would be a good place to start since I had my eyes set on joining the Wizengamot Trial Division, if you remember.”

Tina nodded and Queenie murmured her agreement. Becoming a magical barrister for the Wizengamot was all Feather talked of while she stayed with them.

“The first few weeks flew by without incident,” Feather continued, nervously gathering the duvet in her hands. “I made friends with a group of witches and wizards from the Department of International Magical Cooperation. They all seemed quite lovely at first, especially since they were very welcoming to employees from other departments. I mean, they are trained to communicate with other people across the world so that only seemed logical.” She scrunched up the duvet until her knuckles turned white. “We grew quite close. I was reminded of my days at school in Hufflepuff House; it felt like I had a family again, one that wouldn’t judge me or expect too much from me. Needless to say, I was wrong.”

Tina lowered her cup into her lap while her sister squeezed Feather’s knee.

“You both know me. I can be very emotional and a bit over-reactive—“

“You’re not –“ Queenie began but Feather held up a hand to stop her.

“—it’s all right, love. No need to spare my feelings. Anyway, the group wasn’t too pleased to find that my tears and tongue flow freely when I’m upset. We had many arguments, especially over how the male members of our group should treat the female members. But, Merlin knows, no one listens to me...not even when…” Feather swallowed hesitantly.

Tina allowed her cup to float alongside Feather’s as she placed her hand on Feather’s other knee. “When what?” she asked softly.

“When I was violated by the very men who said they were my friends.”

Tina’s jaw dropped and she covered it with her free hand. “Feather—“

“No, dear, it wasn’t as bad as you think, but –“

“—that doesn’t excuse what they did!” Tina’s voice was shrill and her hand itched to curse the people who had done something so terrible.

“No, it doesn’t,” Queenie agreed. “But Feather ain’t finished yet, Teen.”

The older Goldstein sister was taken aback.

“Oh Tina.” A forced laugh escaped Feather’s lips. “It only gets worse from here. No one believed me. I was told that ‘boys will be boys.’ No amount of explaining could change their minds.”

The tears came then, they flowed silently down her cheeks and onto the sisters’ hands in her lap.

“At some point, things started to improve, although I still kept my distance from most of the men. There was one man, though, that I felt comfortable with. We hadn’t spoken much before and he always seemed a bit standoffish.” She paused, chewing on her bottom lip. “L-Long story short, I fell in love with him. He transferred to the Department of Magical Intoxicating Substances and we began to see each other more often. A few of my cases required authorization from his office so, after a while, I’d try to find ways to spend more time at his desk. He was kind and sweet.” She sniffled, trying to fight back a small smile. “He took me to lunch twice a week. We talked about anything and everything. We fell in step together so quickly, I hardly had a chance to catch my breath.”

“Sounds like you really jived with him,” Queenie said, offering Feather a comforting smile as she watched her friend’s memories of late night trysts filled with soft caresses and laughter.

“I did. Well…at least I thought we did,” Feather murmured, clasping the sisters’ hands. “To everyone else he seemed cold and distant, but with me he was so open. He was so beautiful, so beautiful inside and out.” She squeezed their hands tightly as more tears fell. “I-I gave him the parts of myself that I reserved for the person I would marry.” She felt Tina clasp her hand in both of hers and Queenie draw circles on her wrist with her thumb. “He told me that he loved me, that he wanted to grow old with me. He said he wanted to hold my hand at the birth of our first child; that he imagined me in wedding robes, walking towards him. He promised…he promised to protect me.”

“But he didn’t.” For a moment, Queenie’s statement hung in the air between them like an undetonated bomb.

Feather inclined her head in agreement. “Not everyone was thrilled about our relationship. And…he was much more sensitive to wagging tongues and furtive glances than I was. I-I think it got to him.” She forced herself to take a moment to assess her emotions.

The sisters stayed silent, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“After our first anniversary, I accepted a five month transfer to Cardiff. The Department wanted to do some research on Grindelwald’s growing threat in the south.” Feather’s breath hitched as a sob caught in her throat. “B-Before I left, I had this terrible feeling that when I returned he wouldn’t be waiting for me.”

Tina and Queenie stiffened. They didn’t need to read Feather’s mind to know her premonition was correct.

“A mutual friend told me. Upon my return, he confirmed his intentions.” Feather felt as though her heart would rip itself to pieces, just like it did all those years ago. “H-He just left…he said he loved me but he left…”

“Feather,” Tina whispered, wrapping her arms around Feather’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

At her words, Feather’s resolve snapped. Loud, guttural sobs escaped her throat followed by a river of tears. She saw his face in her mind’s eye and heard his final words in her ears. His goodbye was full of excuses, half-hearted reasons why he was no longer ready to commit himself to her or to the future they planned together. His gaze never met hers, not once, not even when she pleaded with him to give her an honest explanation. He never fully explained himself, only apologized for hurting her over and over until she was sure his words were rehearsed, not sincere. Her sobs morphed into tortured moans as she wondered, not for the first time, if every kiss, every caress, every gift was given with ill-intent, with lies about how much she meant to him. Perhaps he never really loved her at all. She felt violated, used, and so utterly spent. 

Queenie, hearing all of Feather’s dark, tortuous thoughts, leaned over and followed her sister’s lead, wrapping her arms around Feather’s waist. “You’re almost done, honey.”

Feather’s moans faded into soft sniffles as she struggled to calm herself.

“T-There’s more?” Tina asked, looking from Queenie to Feather with wide, grief-stricken eyes. “What else is there?“

“I wasn’t the same after he walked away.” Feather murmured, trembling in the girls’ arms. She closed her eyes, searching for the courage to finish her tale. With a jolt, she realized that she could see it, the night everything almost came to a halt.

“I…I wanted to die.” Feather’s voice was lower than a whisper. “Every single day all I could think of were ways to end my life. I thought about climbing to the top of my flat and jumping off the roof. I imagined myself taking a quill at the Ministry and slicing through my wrists. I even considered casting curses on myself until I found the nerve to use the Killing Curse.” She paused, taking a moment to look out the living room window. The sky looked the same as it did that night – clear, silent, and painfully empty. “In the end, I took a broom and flew over the Thames. I let go.”

For a long while, the witches said nothing and held each other close, each one afraid to break the silence. What could be said to such a confession? The Goldstein sisters were not strangers to the greedy hand of Death. As young girls, they lost their parents to a dragon pox epidemic and had raised each other ever since. They understood grief and all its painful steps, even the desire to make the pain end at any cost. But Feather had almost permanently silenced herself to end the suffering. How do you comfort someone who’d almost fallen prey to Death’s most tempting trap?

With some hesitation, Tina lightly squeezed Feather’s shoulder. “How did you survive?”

Feather gave a very unladylike snort, a reaction that surprised all three witches. “Sometimes I think it was just cold feet. But to be honest, I’m not quite sure.” She paused, thinking of the best way to describe what happened.  “I tumbled through the air and right before I hit the water’s surface…I heard a voice.” She sighed, leaning into Tina’s embrace. She felt Queenie lean further into her side as well. “It was soft, so soft I wasn’t quite sure it was there. It said, ‘Feather, not now. Now is not your time.’” She shook her head, burying her face into Tina’s shoulder. She felt the warm spots on the older witch’s sleeve where her tears were collecting. “I thought I was going madder than I already had. I just…couldn’t ignore it.”

Feather felt Tina sniffle and allowed herself to chuckle, just a bit. “Please don’t get any boogies in my hair, Tina.”

“Shut up,” Tina muttered, rubbing her nose in Feather’s hair. “I’ll do what I want, you silly, reckless child!”

Queenie squeezed Feather round the middle. “What my lovely sister means is that we’re so glad you listened, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Feather responded.

“So what happened next?” Tina pulled away from Feather slightly so that she could catch her breath. “Did you tell your family?”

Feather shook her head. “No, afterwards, I sought out a counselling officer at the Ministry. She helped me get back on my feet so that I could return to my apprenticeship. I was fine for a few weeks or so, but then, I began having more problems with the group.”

“That doesn’t sound promising…”

Feather sighed and straightened to sit properly again. The sisters also pulled away to give her room, but still stayed close as she continued to speak. “Everyone sided with him. They made it a point to ‘remind’ me that being left behind was my own doing. I was, after all, too ‘emotional’ and got too ‘easily attached’ to people. He must have felt so trapped. What else was he going to do?” She spat out the last sentence a though the words were coated in Runespoor venom. “To make things worse, everyone in our Department knew about the witch who tried to jump into the Thames. No one had the gall to speak about it in front of me…but you know how gossip travels in the office.”

The sisters nodded understandingly in unison.

“I thought my career was ruined but, when my apprenticeship was over, the Magical Law Enforcement Board still recommended me to join the Wizengamot Trial Division.”

“Feather!” Tina cried excitedly. “That’s wonderful! You got in!”

A small, sad smile graced Feather’s lips. “Yes, I got in, but I never finished.”

Tina nearly jumped off the couch at Feather’s statement. “W-What? Why?!”

“I-I failed.”

Tina’s eyebrows shot so high that both Feather and Queenie thought they would disappear into her hairline. Before she could utter a word, Feather continued with her tale.

“Soon after I began the program, I had an altercation with a new member of the group. I was assigned to be her mentor while she transitioned into my old clerical position. The group was more than willing to accept her and she fell in love with them. In fact, she’s overprotective of them to a fault.”

“Overprotective?“ Queenie inquired, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes. Like a lioness over her newborn cubs. Anyway, we got into a row about the group’s behavior towards me. I said it was unfair and childish and hurtful. She said that I was the one being childish and stubborn; that they were only trying to help.” She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest in a vain attempt to quell the anger that rose inside of her. “The climax of our argument is what led me back to New York.”

“How so?” Tina asked.

“She brought up the night on the Thames. She screamed at me, saying that I should have just died that night because I ‘couldn’t get over myself.’”

The sisters gasped, even Queenie who had already seen the event in Feather’s thoughts.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Feather said, looking pointedly at her favorite Legilimens. “It’s hard to believe but it did happen. At the time, I was distraught. I didn’t know what to do. All I remember is reaching for my potion’s knife the next morning.”

Tina raised an eyebrow in confusion and concern. Two suicide attempts. Feather had two suicide attempts so close together.

“Before I could do anything, Reginald bit my hand and I dropped the knife.” Absentmindedly, Feather stroked her left thumb where a small scar stood out against her skin. “All of my progress…it seemed like I’d taken several steps back; so I committed myself to St. Mungo’s.”

The mention of the English Wizarding Hospital made Tina and Queenie start. They remembered when their parents were visited by a Mungo’s healer before their deaths. It was not a pleasant experience. “What did they tell you?”

“That I’m sick. The Muggles call it exogenous depression. It’s an illness of the mind. The healers at Mungo’s refer to it as Demention Sickness.”

“As in Dementors?” Tina asked. “The guards of your British prison?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Feather replied. “My symptoms are similar to those caused by being in close proximity to a Dementor. The Healers don’t know much about it; only what they’ve observed in unlucky victims from Azkaban and in Muggle research they’ve managed to get their hands on.”

“But why is it ex-exo—“ Queenie bit her lip, struggling with the word.

“Exogenous? It means it was caused by external forces.”

“So how do they treat it?”

“Well, the illness twists normal, calming thoughts into painful, harmful ones; hence the constant desire to end my life and the actions I’ve taken towards that goal.” Feather bit her lip, a little hesitant to continue.

“How do they treat it, honey?” Queenie repeated.

“Shock spells and prescription potions.”

“SHOCK SPELLS?!” The Goldstein girls cried in unison.

“It’s all right, ladies. I haven’t been shocked…at least not yet.” Feather cringed at the thought. “Instead, I was prescribed a few strong concentrations of Dreamless Sleep and daily Calming Drafts.” She drew her wand and pointed at her case. It popped open to reveal a black leather pouch that opened at her command. Two vials, one filled with a light, luminescent blue liquid, and the other with deep violet liquid, emerged and floated towards the sisters. They were each labeled in spidery scrawl – Calming Draft (40) for the blue liquid and Dreamless Sleep (10) for the violet liquid. “These are my dosages for tonight.”

Queenie examined her bottle closely, twisting it around in her fingers. “Are ya sure this is safe?”

“Honestly, I’m not too thrilled about it, but I don’t really have a choice.”

“That didn’t answer her question.” Tina placed her own bottle in Feather’s lap and gave her an expectant, almost irritated look.

Feather quickly looked away from her, a blush creeping up her neck. “Maybe because I don’t have an answer.” She sighed. “I’m just going to have to hope they are.”

“So what happened next?” Tina questioned. “You still haven’t explained why you didn’t finish the apprenticeship.”

“Ah yes, that bit.” Feather rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “The potions have side effects – nausea, lack of appetite, increased anxiety – things of that nature. Due to the ingredients in their composition, I can’t take other potions to ease those side effects. The increased anxiety caused consistent panic attacks throughout the day. Sometimes I would have two or three before noon.” She ran a hand through her hair, undoing her bun, until she reached the strands that lay upon her breast and toyed with the split ends. “All of that coupled with the stress of trying to uphold my crumbling relationship with the group was too much. I missed lectures and failed menial tasks during missions. During my final examination of the quarter, I made a dreadful mistake that almost cost the proctor his right ear.”

Tina watched Feather’s cheeks turn red with shame and felt her own cheeks burn at the same time. She was well acquainted with that corrosive feeling.

“Needless to say, I was promptly dismissed. I am not allowed near the Department of Magical Law Enforcement apprenticeships for at least three years.”

“Oh Feather,” Tina murmured. “That’s rough.”

The younger witch shrugged. “I thought so as well at first but then I was so relieved. The environment in the Wizengamot is atrocious. Everyone is so ridiculously competitive and petty and ready to hex you into the next millennium. I’m glad to be free.” As she prepared to speak again, she glanced toward the window once more. “After I was dismissed, I spiraled out of control again. I enrolled in Mungo’s new treatment program; it was my last hope.”

The Goldstein sisters exchanged a knowing look. Feather’s suicide attempt count had reached three.

“It was an intensive inpatient therapy program. I spoke about my dismissal and my feelings for ten straight days to a group of strangers. Someone, another person who was also recently diagnosed with Demention Sickness, suggested that I get away for a while…find a new ‘fantastic’ reason for living, as it were. I wasn’t going to follow her advice…but things changed.”

“How?” The girls asked in unison.

Feather shut her eyes, once again seeing images that she wished would just fade like smoke on the breeze. “I returned to my flat and my family…my family dropped by for an unannounced visit.” Feather could see her, the cropped, salt-and-pepper hair, the wild, furious eyes, and the burning, piercing voice – her mother. “They’d learned of my dismissal and my mother was screeching at me like a Howler. For being a Muggle, she really did her research on affluent Ministry positions…”

“Feather,” Queenie whispered, recalling what Madam Firestone shouted at her child.

“I tried to explain my illness but no one listened. My father tried, I suppose, but my mother was too loud, too strong. My little sister…well…she just wasn’t prepared to handle the situation.” There were no tears this time, Feather noticed, only long, drawn out sighs. “I was mocked and disowned. The moment they left my flat, I wrote to you. I just…I just didn’t know who else to turn to. I have no one left, except for the two of you.” She opened her eyes and looked at each sister, making sure to pause for a long while before speaking again. “There’s one last thing.”

A tattered envelope emerged from Feather’s medicine pouch and floated straight into Tina’s lap.

“Something happens when I have an attack. It’s not often but during a particularly difficult episode…you may want to watch out for this.” She gestured for Tina to open the envelope. “There’s a far better explanation of the symptom in there along with instructions for what to do if I have attacks in front of you.”

“’Magical outbursts.’” Tina read, her eyes flying across the first page. “‘Sometimes debilitating, if not at the very least harmful to the patient and others around her.’” A thought crept into Tina’s mind, one that couldn’t possibly be true. “This sounds like—“

“Yes. Just like that, but not entirely.” Feather looked to Queenie, who sat quietly, fiddling with one of her perfectly manicured nails. “I’m somewhat of a liability, aren’t I?”

The blonde witch was at a loss for words.  She only looked to her sister and her friend imploringly. It wouldn’t do to label the struggling witch as a threat, but it was true that she hadn’t learned to properly rein in her emotions or abilities.

“The attacks…they haven’t stopped. I don’t know if they ever will. Sometimes I can help myself through them while at other times…”

“You can’t,” Queenie finished, watching as Tina pulled out a few more leafs of paper from the envelope and skimmed them. “Like this mornin’ on the ship.”

            “Yes. That’s how I met Mr. Scamander.” At the mention of Newt’s name, Tina stopped reading and focused her attention back to Feather. “He coached me through an attack. If he wasn’t there, I don’t know what would have happened. I’m in his debt.”

            “His debt, huh?” Tina said with a slight smirk. “Just know that you can’t get him outta any consequences, Feather. He’s got a lot to answer for once we catch his crazy Niffler thing.”

            Feather nodded, crossing her heart. “I won’t interfere, I promise.”

“Honey,” Queenie said, taking a piece of paper from Tina’s hand. “Did ya see this? There’s specific instructions sayin’ we ain’t supposed to leave you alone for more than a few hours.”

            “Oh that.” Feather flicked her fingers as if she was shooing away an irksome bug. “Don’t worry! I’ll be fine. That’s only if I—“

            “If you begin to show suicidal tendencies.” Tina pointed to a particular section of the paper in Queenie’s hands. “Or the symptoms of a severe episode.” The girls turned the page to Feather, showing her the long, bulleted document. “Looks like someone’s provided a list of your tells, Feather.”

            “And I’ve seen most of ‘em today,” Queenie said, a tone of finality in her voice. “You know that’s gonna make this difficult, right, honey?”

            Feather felt like ripping her hair out as she imagined the blonde witch locking the front door and every other way out of the apartment. “I’m supposed to be here to find myself, Queenie, and improve; not become a prisoner! Please let me have my freedom while I’m with you!”

            Tina and Queenie shared a look. The older Goldstein sister allowed the younger to read her thoughts on the matter. As employees of MACUSA and concerned New Yorkers, the sisters knew Feather’s mental and magical instability could make her a target of the Major Investigative Department, especially after the recent attacks the Aurors were tracking. As the young witch’s friends (almost siblings, really), they knew caging her would destroy any chance of a full recovery. The poor girl already felt trapped in her own skin. Was it right for them to impose more restrictions upon her? After a few moments of silence, Queenie sighed, looking put out.

“Teenie and I agree that you’re right. You do deserve your freedom with us.”

            “Yes! Thank you—“

            “But!” Tina held up her left index finger, effectively silencing the other witch. “You’ll need to check in with us every few hours. Queenie and I will lend you this.” A wooden chest on the mantelpiece snapped open. A simple gold pendant on a long chain, like the one Tina wore around her neck, emerged and floated towards Feather before resting in her open palm. “It was our mother’s. When you tap your wand against it and think of us, we’ll know where you are.”

            “Mama charmed that pendant, Teenie’s locket, and most of my shoes to do so.”

            Tina smiled at Feather’s curious expression. “Queenie was always runnin’ off somewhere when we were kids. It was tough to keep an eye on her...but, at least she always kept her shoes on!”

            Feather chuckled as she placed the necklace around her throat. It was warm to the touch and, upon closer inspection, she found the Goldstein crest, an elegant ‘G’ surrounded by lilies, embedded into its surface. “I’ll be sure to do as you’ve asked.” Without warning, she stretched out her arms and pulled both of the Goldstein sisters into her embrace. She laughed aloud as they struggled against her grip. “Thank you, Queenie. Thank you, Tina. You won’t regret this!”

            “You definitely will if you don’t let go!”

            “Besides, the cocoa’s gone cold too!”

            The three mugs of once steaming cocoa floated towards the sink at Queenie’s observation, ready to wash themselves and retire for the night. The apartment was filled with the girls’ lilting laughter before Tina hushed them into silence, pointing at the bedroom where Newt and Jacob slept. At that moment, a faint but terrifying roar echoed outside the open window.

            “Did you hear that?” Feather asked, crawling across the cushions toward the window sill. “That sounded like…”

            “A beast!” Tina and Queenie jumped over the back of the couch to the sliding pocket doors.

            Tina threw them open to reveal two empty, rumpled beds and no magical suitcase. She growled in frustration and fled the room, summoning her coat and shoes as she did so.

            Feather walked over and embraced Queenie who stared dejectedly at her bed and the novel lying open on the duvet.

            “But…we made ‘em cocoa…”


	11. Eleven

The next morning, Feather awoke with a sneeze. A cloud of dust swirled around her head as she reluctantly shoved the duvet off her legs. Sitting up, she realized that neither Tina nor Queenie lay beside her. The apartment was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Feather glanced at it, yawning loudly as she did so.

            _10:30_.

            No. Impossible. She hadn’t slept in so late in ages!

            Glancing at her case, she noticed the two empty potion bottles. The medicine worked. Despite her reservations, she had to admit that, perhaps, following her prescription regimen wouldn’t be quite so terrible. She turned to the still open window, squinting as the sunlight hit her eyes. A slight breeze blew through the room and she heard a rustling noise on the table beside her. Looking over, she found a note written in Queenie’s hand fluttering dangerously close to the edge. She picked it up while stifling another yawn.

            _Feather,_

_Went off to work. You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you. There’s some toast and oatmeal on the table for you. I’ll meet up with Tina at the office and we’ll be home before dinner. Don’t forget to check in! Have a great day, darling!_

_Queenie_

            Feather absently grasped the pendant around her neck and took a few moments to recall the previous evening. She’d explained her struggle to the sisters, they shared cups of cocoa, and cried together. Then, they’d heard the roar of a beast. Tina left to chase down Newt and Jacob while she and Queenie waited for them to return. They waited and waited and waited. When the clock struck half past midnight, the two witches decided to end their vigil.

            “I’m sure they’re all right,” Queenie said, her voice quivering. She could sense Tina’s thoughts and knew her older sister was both furious and terrified. The image in her mind was that of Tina hurrying through the streets, clutching Newt’s case to her chest. Suddenly, a harsh wind blew through, snuffing out all the lights. Before Queenie’s vision darkened she saw her sister’s face covered in tears, jaw set with determination.

            “She’s got Newt’s case and is on her way to MACUSA,” Queenie whispered.

            “I know you’re worried, Queen,” said Feather, taking hold of her friend’s trembling hand. “But Tina knows what she’s doing.”

            Queenie nodded, forcing herself to relax. “You’re right. Teenie’s got things under control.”

            They’d both gone to bed hoping Tina would return in the morning. Now, alone in the apartment, Feather’s concern grew. Queenie’s note seemed cheerful enough but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone awry. Perhaps Tina hadn’t made it to the Woolworth Building. Was it possible that she’d gotten attacked along the way? Or maybe she’d gotten into trouble with her previous department again? Could she have been arrested? But for what…being a good person? Maybe that weird Niffler thing she mentioned caused more havoc and was eating her somewhere! No, right. Wrong, of course.

            Feather violently shook her head, trying to dispel her racing thoughts. The clock on the mantel rang out the hour with a loud _gong_.

            “Sweet Merlin! The fuck?!” she shrieked, nearly jumping out of her skin. After taking a few long heartbeats to catch her breath, she finally rolled off the couch and slowly trudged over to the oatmeal and toast.

            _Tap-tap-tap._

Munching on a slice of toast, Feather looked up to see Reginald and Charlie alight on the open window sill. Neither had any parcels or letters haphazardly attached to them, but looked at Feather expectantly nonetheless.

“Treats, boys?” she asked, summoning a handful of owl biscuits. “Goodness, we’ve spoiled you rotten!”

The two owls clacked their beaks in annoyance, only stopping when Feather spread the biscuits in front of them. While the birds ate, Feather finished her own breakfast with a huff. Looking at the time, she realized it was quarter past eleven.

“I should go out and do something,” she muttered, looking about the room and feeling a weight settle in her chest. If she was being honest, she really didn’t feel like doing anything at all. Sudden reluctance, she knew, was part of her illness and today it was rearing its ugly, sloth-like head. The couch and duvet were calling out to her and she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep the day away. However, both the Healers and the sisters would not approve of such behavior. With a lazy, stunted glance at the door, she decided to pop out to the market and gather ingredients for dinner. “I suppose it’s better than sitting here staring at…nothing...”

Reginald and Charlie looked up from their meal as Feather slowly padded to the shower. They both realized that Reggie’s mum wasn’t feeling too well, but, for once, decided not to do a thing about it. After all, she was a grown witch and could handle herself. Right?

\--

            Early winter in New York City was always a fickle thing. One day the sky would be crying torrents of rain, and the next it would swallow the city in a white cloak of ice. Today, a light snowfall added to the few inches that had fallen during the night. As Feather stepped onto the brownstone porch, a chill swept through the street, bringing with it the smell of sea and salt. In response, she hastily adjusted the scarf around her neck. It was an old, woolen keepsake from her days at Hogwarts. The yellow and black threads were worn and patched in some places, but the scarf was perpetually warm.

            Although it was close to noon, not many people were out and about on 24th Street. Evidence of the morning’s busy traffic was present in the black slush and footprints that littered the street. A few automobiles drove by, spewing ugly black smog into the air. Unlike yesterday, a certain grey drabness clung to everything, causing Feather’s mood to fall a little more. Across the way, two girls, no older than twelve, were skipping hand-in-hand towards 25th Street. Upon seeing them, Feather’s heart ached for Tina and Queenie as well as her own sister. Her hand found the pendant that was buried in the ends of her scarf. With a jolt, she realized that she hadn’t checked in with the sisters since she woke up. Drawing her wand, she tapped on the pendant, visualizing Tina’s face. The pendant glowed for a few moments before dulling and leaving behind a little warmth. Turning back to the street, Feather noticed that it was now empty and, oddly enough, very silent. She hastened to the end of the street, feeling a little better as she heard more automobiles, carriages, and people scurry to and fro.

            “Here goes nothing,” she muttered and trudged her way through the ice and snow towards Chelsea Market.  

\--

            Two hours later, Feather emerged from the underground Market with two large paper bags full of ingredients for pumpkin-apple pasties and her favorite alfredo pasta.

            “Hopefully the boys stay for dinner,” she said quietly to herself. “I’ve bought too much otherwise.”

            She looked up at the sky and covered her eyes as bit of light filtered through the thick clouds. The snow had stopped but the wind picked up, causing Feather to shiver through her coat and scarf. She desperately wished she could Apparate straight into the apartment, damn all advice to the contrary. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her coat more securely about her shoulders and hugged the groceries more tightly to her chest. She tramped through the dirty slush towards 22nd Street, pausing briefly to smile at the hot dog vendor she met the day before. When their eyes met, he nodded towards the corner where she’d met Credence. Sure enough, the gangly young man was standing in the same spot, holding out pamphlets to the empty air.

            “Oh, Credence!” Feather rushed across the street, barely stopping to see if it was clear before crossing.

            The boy’s head shot up at the sound of his name. He spun around wildly, looking for the voice that called out to him. When he spotted Feather, a fierce blush colored his pale cheeks. “H-Hello, miss.”

            “Hello!” Feather skittered to a halt in front of him, looking him over with concern. He was dressed in the same outfit as the day before but with the addition of a ragged black scarf and threadbare wool coat. He was shivering violently as he tried to meet her gaze. “Oh, you poor thing! You’re freezing!”

            Credence ducked his head and clamped his teeth together to stop them from chattering. “Oh no, ma’am, I’m just fine. T-T-Thank you.”

            “Nonsense!” As subtly as she could, Feather grasped her wand inside the sleeve of her coat. She turned away from him for a minute, pulling one small thread from her scarf as she did so.

            “R-Really, ma’am,” he said, taking a step away from her. “Please don’t worry about me…it’s cold but, Ma says—“

            “There we go!” Feather spun around, clutching her bags tightly to her chest. Draped across them was a thick, newly knit black scarf. She nodded towards it as she met his eyes. “Please, Credence. Take it.” Her voice carried a touch of desperation and concern. “You really shouldn’t be out here in the cold without something warm.”

            Credence stared at her as if she had grown two heads. After a few moments, he took a hesitant step forward, hand outstretched.

            “Go ahead,” Feather encouraged, holding out the bags as far as she could to make things a little easier for him.

            The young man grasped the scarf in one hand and gently lifted it off the bags. His eyes widened as he absently dropped the pamphlets he was holding. The woolen accessory was _warm_. Almost without thinking, Credence stripped himself of his old scarf and wrapped the new one around his neck. The warmth embedded itself in his bones and his shivering ceased. It felt nothing less than _magical._

            “Do you like it?”

            His head shot up at Feather’s question. He observed her, marveling at how excited she looked to have shared something so simple with him. “Yes. Thank you, ma’am.”

            The first genuine smile of the day spread across Feather’s lips. “You’re very welcome! Now, have you had lunch? I was just about to--”

            “CREDENCE!” A shrill voice cut through the air like a knife, slashing through the bubble of subtle serenity that surrounded them.

            Credence shrunk to less than twice his size in a matter of seconds. With trembling fingers, he buttoned up his coat, trying to hide the new scarf within its depths.

            “CREDENCE BAREBONE!” The voice was closer and was accompanied by the hurried clacking of very worn heeled shoes.

As the sound came closer, he fell to his knees, scrabbling to pick up the now ruined pamphlets. He groaned when he realized that they were soaked and blackened by the slush along the pavement.

            “CREDENCE! CREDENCE! _CREDENCE_!”

            Feather saw Credence cradle his head in his hands as he forced himself to stand, tears streaming down his cheeks. His panic spurred her into action. She turned to confront his verbal assailant, doing her best to place herself in front of him as a shield.

She came face to face with someone she did not expect.

A middle-aged woman in a dark coat, dress, and cloche stared down at her from the end of a very pointed nose. Anger and dominance were etched into every wrinkle of her pale, pinched face. Her lips, set into a fierce frown, were framed by pronounced lines. Behind her stood a young woman in a similar outfit and a young girl in a faded grey frock and coat. Their faces were gaunt and pale, like Credence’s, and they sported dull blonde hair pulled back into low, tight buns. They peered at Feather warily through red-rimmed, glassy eyes.

            “I beg your pardon, miss!” The woman barely spoke above a whisper, but her words resonated in the freezing air. “Did you have a question about our Cause?”

            “I’m sorry. What? And, forgive me, but who are you?”

            “The Cause! Our fight against the plague that’s infected our city.” The woman’s eyes burned with a mixture of passion and disgust as she held Feather’s gaze. “I am Mary Lou Barebone, director of the New Salem Philanthropic Society.”

            “I see.” The last thing Feather wanted was to run into the infamous leader of the Second Salemers. She silently cursed herself for giving Credence the magical scarf. If it was discovered, there would be hell to pay in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.

            “Are you a seeker, miss?” Mary Lou asked, gliding towards her. “A seeker of justice?”

            Feather stifled a laugh. “Not a seeker, no. I’ve done a bit of keeping in my time though.”

            Mary Lou smirked although Feather wasn’t sure if it was out of understanding or another reason entirely. “Indeed. Well, were you able to speak to my son? I hope he kept you well informed of our next meeting.”

 _Credence_.

Feather heard him shift nervously behind her.  It all began to make sense. The pamphlets, the dead stare, the thin clothing. She just wanted to be certain.

“So is that why Credence is out here in the cold? To provide information about your…Cause?”

            “Of course!” Mary Lou’s mouth split into a wide, saccharine grin. “It is the honor of all my children to represent the Society and protect our fine city from—“

            “Those who don’t fall under your idea of ‘normal.’” The words tumbled out of Feather’s mouth before she could stop them. “Anyone who is different or queer or strange. You are so small-minded!”

Mary Lou was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?!”

She advanced on the older woman, getting so close her grocery bags were nearly crumpled between them. “You’re so obsessed with preaching that you’ve put other, more important things aside! Have you noticed that this poor boy is _freezing_ out here?!”

            Slowly, Mary Lou turned and regarded her son.

            Credence had quietly slipped behind a set of silver trash bins when Feather came chest to chest with his mother.  He sunk further behind them as he felt her gaze rest on him.

            “Is this true?” Mary Lou questioned. “Are you cold, dear?”

            Credence emerged from his hiding place but tripped as he processed her words. She’d never called him _dear_ before. “Um…a-a little.”

            “Ah.”

            His mother’s utterance of that single syllable nearly made his heart stop. On trembling legs, he scrambled out from behind the bins to stand beside her, head hung low in penance. “I should have dressed more warmly before leaving today. I’m sorry, Ma.”

            “Yes. Yes, you should have.” Mary Lou placed a finger under Credence’s chin, tipping his head so that his gaze met hers. “We’ll finish settling this matter at home. But, for now, let’s get back to the task at hand, hm?”

            “Madam, please!” Feather exclaimed, completely flabbergasted. “You can’t be serious?!”

“My dear, children run wild without proper discipline.” Mary Lou pinched Credence’s cheek once before plucking a crumpled pamphlet from his arms.  She turned it over in her hands, caressing the stained cover as if it were something sacred.

“But that’s not what I—“

“Miss, you must understand! Witches are a threat to our safety! They bring their pagan practices from across the ocean and spread lies, curses, and disease.”

 Almost, as if on cue, the older girl stepped towards Feather, nodding vigorously. “I saw them, miss! Those dirty, rotten dewdroppers--“

“Chastity!”

The girl abruptly shut her mouth and slipped back behind her mother, glaring sourly at her shoes.

“But Mama, we saw ‘em!” The youngest Barebone child stepped forward, blinking owlishly at Feather. “The witches! They looked kinda like…” She raised her hand and pointed straight at the young witch.

Feather nearly tumbled off the pavement as she regarded the girl’s finger with fear and disbelief. Her wand hand twitched involuntarily and she felt the smooth curve of its handle brush her palm. A second round of _Obliviations_ in less than a day seemed more and more likely by the minute. However, before Feather could even think of casting the spell, Mary Lou rounded on her daughter.

“MODESTY!” she shrieked. Then, to Feather’s horror, she grabbed the little girl by her bun and _yanked_.

Modesty let out an unholy screech as she fought to untangle her mother’s fingers from her hair. Behind her, Chastity stood silent, worrying her lip between her teeth.

“STOP!” Feather cried, throwing the groceries to the ground. At the same moment, she felt a strong hand grip her arm.

“No, miss, don’t!” Credence begged as Feather gaped at him. “Please don’t…you’ll only make things worse for her…”

 Ice flowed through Feather’s veins at his words.

 _You’ll only make things worse_.

That’s what her sister used to say when their parents went into a rage. That’s what the group chided her with when she wanted to reach out to a struggling colleague. That’s what he barked at her when she tried to soothe the stress and ache from his shoulders.

_You’ll only make things worse._

Every time she was scolded, she did nothing. She didn’t argue. She didn’t rebel. She merely watched the suffering in submissive silence. And so, there she was, watching a child suffer and, again, doing nothing.

Modesty fell to her knees, whimpering as her mother twisted the bun tighter.

“Apologize.”

“Nuh-uh!” She tried to squirm free but to no avail.

“Modesty!” Mary Lou yanked on the bun again, eliciting another scream.

“NO! I WON’T!”

The older woman closed her eyes and sighed in defeat. “Headstrong child! I’m so sorry, Miss. Sometimes my youngest has these fanciful ideas…” She paused to lift her hand from Modesty’s head, stretching her fingers lazily as she did so. Once she was free, the girl scurried behind her brother, clutching on to his coat for dear life.

Feather stood stock still, mouth agape, as Mary Lou removed Credence’s hand from her arm and replaced it with her own. “Friend, I apologize for Modesty’s accusation. I hope it doesn’t dampen your interest in the Cause.”

“Dampen…interest…” Feather repeated mechanically. She tried to formulate a better response but couldn’t find the words. Her stomach churned, as if she’d eaten far too much, and her heart beat erratically as her mind replayed each of Mary Lou’s punishments.

“Here, dear, take this.”

The witch nearly lost her breakfast when she saw the pamphlet pressed into her palm.

“Hopefully the good Lord will bring us together again soon!”

Mary Lou squeezed Feather’s arm, a gesture that was far more terrifying than reassuring, and gathered up her brood. The Barebone girls each mumbled a rough goodbye. Credence, on the other hand, couldn’t look at Feather as he passed.

As the Barebones rounded the corner on 22nd Street, the trembling, distraught witch quickly gathered her discarded groceries, squeezed her eyes shut, and Apparated – Healers’ orders and common sense be damned.


	12. Twelve

She’d never Apparated in the middle of a panic attack before, but bollocks if doing so didn’t put a swift end to one! In fact, her wand didn’t even have the opportunity to spark and burn a hole in her sleeve. As the Goldsteins’ apartment materialized around her, Feather found herself in a crumpled heap on the floor. Upon further inspection, she realized she’d landed beneath the dining room table. She attempted to roll onto her knees but collapsed flat on her stomach instead, nearly hitting her head on one of the table legs. Again, her breakfast began to come up and her head felt as though a fully-grown Ukrainian Ironbelly was tramping around inside of it. With a groan, she flicked the wrist of her wand arm and summoned the waste bin. Then, as the last waves of transportation magic washed over her, she let herself be sick for the first time since she earned her Apparation license.

            “Merlin’s fucking balls,” she grumbled, shoving the bin away. “I bloody hate when the Healers are right!”

With another groan (and quite a lot of will power) she rolled out from underneath the table until she heard a loud _crunch!_ Unable to sit upright due to residual nausea, she forced herself to lay on her back, carefully turning her head to find the source of the unfortunate noise.

“Oh no!”

 The groceries were strewn across the floor in all directions. One bag was slashed to pieces; spilling out of it were a ripped parcel of pasta and two battered apples. The source of the crunch came from the other bag which lay under Feather’s left foot. She lifted the appendage and was surprised to find it covered in white powder. With a start, she realized the can of icing sugar she’d bought was completely crushed beneath the weight of her foot. So much for making a hearty meal. She blinked away tears of disappointment with a huff and finally rolled onto her knees. With practiced hands, she felt every inch of her torso, looking for any long cuts and bruises. Finding nothing, she moved onto her legs, arms, and neck. Nothing there as well.

“At least the bag was _Splinched_ and not my fucking arm…”

“You Apparated?!”

“MERLIN’S—“ Feather stopped mid-exclamation as she found herself nose-to-nose with a very red and flustered blonde witch. She hadn’t even heard the distinctive _pop!_ of Apparation. “Queenie, y-you’re home!”

Without pretense, Queenie roughly grabbed Feather by the shoulders and yanked her up. “Feather Rose, you answer me!”

Feather nodded vigorously, knowing full well that her friend had already seen her thoughts.

“Oh, thank Morrigan!” Queenie crushed Feather to her bosom, nearly smothering her in a flurry of pink velvet and jasmine.

Feather balked. “What do you mean, ‘thank Morrigan?’” Only then did she notice that Queenie was alone. “And where is Tina?”

“Oh, right…”

“Queenie. Queenie, you’re scaring me.” Feather lightly pushed her friend away. Her heart beat faster again as the younger Goldstein chewed on her lip, eyes darting to some spot behind Feather, then back to her face. “What in the name of Paracelsus is going on?”

Queenie took a deep, bracing breath. “You’ve gotta trust me, all right?”

“A-All right?”

With a firm hold on the young witch’s hand, Queenie nearly dragged her across the room to the teal couch. Resting upon it was a familiar, battered suitcase.

“Isn’t that Mr. Scamander’s?” Feather asked. “Why do you have it? Didn’t Tina—“

“Yes, she did, and I know you’ve got a lotta questions, honey, but you gotta stop now and do what I tell ya.” With a flick of her wand, the locks of the case undid themselves and the lid flew open. “Now get in.”

“I beg your pardon?!” Feather cried. “What the bloody—“

“Sorry, sweetie,” Queenie said, patting Feather quickly on the cheek. “But there’s no time!”

Then, with a well-placed shove, Feather was falling hard and fast.

\--

She landed soundly on her bottom in one of the Hogwarts Greenhouses. Well, to be more precise, one of the tiny, cramped sheds that Professor Beery erected in each greenhouse at the beginning of her first year. No, that couldn’t be right. Didn’t she just get shoved through a leather suitcase? And, there weren’t any hidden portals that could possibly lead into Hogwarts. Headmaster Dippet wouldn’t allow it. Yet, the place she now found herself in looked, smelled, and _felt_ the same.

The scents of freshly turned earth, sweat, and mildew filled her nostrils as she got to her feet.  The familiarity she was surrounded by tugged at her heart and she couldn’t resist the urge to amble around the small space. It was filled to the brim with magical and non-magical objects. Every nook and cranny that could be jammed full of something was stuffed and then stuffed again. Towers of wooden drawers and shelves lined every wall. Each of them held a plethora of plants, vials, and potion materials. Dozens of old maps and smudged sketches of creatures and landscapes were stuck haphazardly against every open expanse of wood. In one corner stood a rickety workbench covered with more sketches, an old, rusty typewriter, a grimy cauldron, and a few broken quills. Half-hidden beneath the workbench was an old canvas camping bed nearly swallowed by a pile of multicolored feathers and what looked to be a handful of Sickles and Galleons.

“That really isn’t safe, Mr. Scamander,” she murmured to the empty air. Conjuring a small pouch, she reached for the pile of coins. It wouldn’t do for this man’s savings to be stolen or lost. Just as the last of the conns slipped into the pouch, a door she hadn’t noticed before flew open and slammed against the wall beside it. A few papers fluttered to the floor as the oldest Goldstein sister rushed in, hair askew and eyes shining with unshed tears.

Wait. _Tears?_

“Feather!” Tina cried, rushing forward and grabbing the young witch’s face in her hands. “I thought I heard somethin’ movin’ around in here!”

“Tina, it’s good to see you too!” Feather gently held the hands on her cheeks. She started as a few tears fell unbidden from Tina’s eyes. “Darling, are you all right?”

Tina shook her head, willing her tears to stop and her throat to open. She was an Auror, for Mercy’s sake! The muted voices of Seraphina Picquery and Percival Graves reminded her that she was a _demoted_ Auror, but to hell with them! She was stronger than this. Wasn’t she?

“Have a seat,” Feather said, leading her to the camping bed. Once Tina was comfortably settled, Feather transfigured a nearby box labelled ‘FLESH-EATING SLUG REPELLANT: ~~DO NOT EAT~~ ’ into a low stool. She scooted it closer to the bed, sank onto it with relief, and turned her attention back to Tina. “So what happened last night? Why are you so frightened?”

“I wouldn’t say frightened…” Tina sniffled. A watery smile graced her lips as she dabbed at her cheeks with the end of her sleeve. “I’m more shaken, really…but then whaddaya expect from bein’ thrown into the…the…no. I can’t.” She plucked one of the feathers from the bed and threaded it through her fingers. Over and over she did this until Feather couldn’t stand the tension anymore and reached out to still her hand.

“Porpentina, talk to me. _Please._ ”

Tina’s face fell. “You know it’s not that easy.”

“ _Try_.”

            Tina swiveled away, looking for anything to focus on that wasn’t Feather or her feelings. Again, the witches fell into an awkward silence. Many moments passed as each witch stubbornly held onto her resolve; one was firmly set on staying silent and the other was struggling not to ask a million different questions.

            “Stop it, Queenie,” Tina muttered quietly. She could feel her sister pushing against her thin Occulumency shields. “I don’t want to.” She glanced back at Feather. “But you’re both gonna make me, aren’t you?”

            Feather wanted to disagree, but knew she couldn’t. “Things have changed…and, to be frank, no one’s explained to me what the bloody hell’s going on!”

            Tina winced at Feather’s sudden irritation. When Queenie said they were going to _“grab Feather real quick and be off”_ she thought an explanation was included. In truth, if Tina’s pendant hadn’t started glowing right as they exited MACUSA, Feather would have been left on her own. “Mercy Lewis! Fine. You win.” She rubbed her temples, willing her brain to find a sufficient starting place. She started with her demotion and the terror the Second Salemers were bringing to the Wizarding Community. Feather didn’t interrupt but felt horribly sick as Tina described defending Credence from his mother. 

“He’s just a kid,” Tina whimpered. “I couldn’t leave him.”

“I know,” Feather replied, blankly staring at her lap. “Poor thing…”

Tina barely noticed her friend’s response and continued onto how she met Newt Scamander and Jacob Kowalski. Here, her words carried a spark of irritation and a touch of mirth. However, the lightness of her tone did not last. As she finished her narrative regarding the chase of the two men across New York, dismay crept back into her voice.  

“After I found ‘em at Central Park, I picked up the case and made my way to MACUSA.” Tina looked imploringly at Feather. “They broke the law. It was my job. Too much has happened. I couldn’t…I had to do somethin’.” She felt Queenie’s consciousness lurking outside her mind again, ready to help if necessary. Unfortunately, they still weren’t in the clear or her sister would have been beside her in an instant. But Queenie or no Queenie, nothing could have stopped the deluge that poured from Tina’s lips. “I made a huge mistake…”

“What? Darling, you were doing your job—“

“No! I shouldn’t have brought the case to the President! I shouldn’t have walked into that meeting!” Tina cried, grabbing Feather’s hands and squeezing so hard the fingertips became slightly blue.  “I made a huge mistake, Feather! I sold ‘em out…but I didn’t…I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” Tears fell more quickly down her cheeks as her mind replayed the moment she, Newt, and Jacob were bound and dragged away to the cells. “We didn’t deserve it! I didn’t do anything! But it’s the law and Graves said—“  Her breathing quickened until Feather was sure no oxygen was reaching her lungs. “H-He s-said—He said—“

“Tina, take a breath, darling,” Feather murmured soothingly. “It’s all right! It’s all right!”

“No! No, it’s not! You don’t understand!” Overcome with guilt and grief, Tina shoved Feather’s hands away as if they were made of Fiendfyre. “They put me in the Chair! THEY-PUT-ME-IN-THE- _CHAIR!_ ”

The silence that followed Tina’s outburst swallowed the warmth from the shed. A number of heartbeats later, Feather finally grasped what Tina was trying to explain.

“The Chair…oh, in the names of Merlin and Morgana…”

All Wizarding communities around the world practiced some form of extreme punishment. After all, _something_ had to deter the most powerful among them from taking complete control – or at least that was the goal. From what Feather knew, America was one of the last countries to still implement a death penalty; one that permanently ended a person’s physical and spiritual existence, not just destroyed the soul and left the body an empty shell.

The Chair was such a device. It floated above a lake of dark potion, a variant of the Draught of Living Death. Once the accused was placed into the Chair, it sank closer to the potion until it was encased in the liquid. From there, death was, hopefully, instantaneous.

“It was all ‘round me. That potion…” Tina was shaking. Violently. The vibration of her limbs sunk through the camping bed and into the floor, rattling the wooden floorboards. She glanced down at her hands and screamed as black tendrils, so like the potion, creeped across her palms and wrapped around her wrists. Faintly, she felt Queenie’s consciousness try to curl itself around hers; a barrier against the gruesome visions. But, as much as she wished for Queenie’s physical presence, her sister’s body didn’t materialize around hers. It still wasn’t safe. It still wasn’t over. Tina’s screams turned to sobs as the tendrils disappeared and warm fingers firmly took their place.

Feather held on tightly to Tina’s wrists, swallowing her own tears and the memory of broomstick splinters biting into her skin. She understood the horror. She understood the pain. She understood the terror. But Tina didn’t choose the edge. Someone she trusted sent her there, and that simple fact was impossible to comprehend.

“M-Mama was there. I wanted to be with her…then I couldn’t stand to see _that_ woman and he cried…and Newt…” She could still feel herself jumping onto the Swooping Evil, her blind trust as she leapt from the disintegrating Chair, and Newt’s warmth as he caught her. All the emotions the adrenaline had forced away bubbled to the surface and Tina was helpless against the onslaught.

“Hush, darling, hush.” Feather enfolded Tina in her embrace, just as the witch had done for her the night before. “You’re safe now. I promise.” She felt Tina bury herself into her bosom, trying desperately to hide from the pain and shock coursing through her body.

Then, without warning, the door Tina came through was thrown open again. Tina and Feather nearly jumped out of their skins as Newt Scamander and Jacob Kowalski stumbled into the shed, disheveled and thoroughly out of breath. Jacob staggered forward as he tried to regain his balance, mumbling a quick apology when he tripped over Newt’s right foot.  Once righted, he smiled awkwardly at Feather who merely nodded at his greeting, her attention fixed solely on the other man.  

Newt’s attention, in turn, was focused entirely on the weeping witch. As if she were a wounded creature, he reached out to her. He whispered her name as if it were a prayer as he knelt before her, eyes filled with supplication. “Tina.”

“How dare you?!” Feather snarled, clutching Tina closer. In a swift motion, she put her body between the wizard and her friend. “How dare you speak to her?!”

At Feather’s outburst, a small stick like creature crept out of Newt’s breast pocket and hoisted itself up onto his shoulder. It angrily chirped at Feather, gesticulating wildly, until Tina heaved another sob. At the sound, it calmed a little and patted Newt’s cheek forlornly.

Keeping her gaze trained on the offending wizard, Feather pointedly ignored the spindly creature and nearly spat in Newt’s face. “You put her in that Chair, didn’t you, Scamander? It’s _your_ fault—“

“I tried to stop them! Told them she had nothing to do with…” Newt trailed off, his tongue tied with shame. He was close to tears but bit them back, feeling undeserving of sadness. His head hung low before the witches, as if awaiting the blade that would strike him down.

“Hey.”

Feather’s head shot up as Jacob joined Newt on the floor, effectively forcing her to shift until Newt had access to Tina. She couldn’t help but turn her anger towards the No-Maj. “Let me guess. _You_ also had something to do with this?!”

 “Feather, take a breath.” Jacob held up his hands, showing her he meant no harm. “Give Tina a little space and let’s talk this over.”

The young witch was taken aback. He was speaking to her as if she were an irate, caged beast. The thought made more resentment towards the two men writhe inside her, but before she could retort, Tina squirmed in her arms, trying to break the embrace. Feather reluctantly released her.

“Go,” Tina sniffed, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. “I need to speak to Newt anyway.” Gently, she dried her tears before standing at full height, looking every bit the powerful, regal Auror she was.

“Tina!” exclaimed Feather and Newt simultaneously, one in bewilderment and the other in relief.

“Please,” Tina murmured, reaching down to pull Feather to her feet. “I’ll be fine.” She guided the witch to Jacob, then knelt beside Newt, took his arm, and, once he was on his feet, walked back towards the exit of the shed. Once the door closed behind them, Jacob took Tina’s seat on the camping bed.

“What happened tonight was one helluva ride, honey. Now, I’m gonna tell ya, but you gotta promise that you’ll wait till I’m finished before you say anything.”

Feather began to protest but relented when Jacob fixed her with a pointed, no-nonsense stare. “Fine. Go ahead.”

The portly man heaved a sigh and absently rubbed the bite on the side of his neck. “Well, uh, after you ladies went to bed, Newt showed me ‘round in here.” He gestured to the shed and the door leading beyond. “It’s an amazing world he’s got out there. And…I couldn’t let him try an’ chase down all those missin’ creatures by himself.”

“So you two saw it fit to escape the flat and run off on your own?”

Jacob cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, about that…I just…”

“Just what?” Feather hissed, sarcasm coating every word. “Wanted to help?”

Jacob nodded in earnest. “Newt an’ the girls have done a lot for me in the short amount of time that I’ve known ‘em. Not everyone’s that kind and open-minded, ya know?” He smiled a little as Feather looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. “Looks like ya do, doll.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

He waved away her apology with a chuckle. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve been through worse.” He winked which elicited a smile from his companion. The tension that had filled the shed during Tina’s episode vanished in the wake of Jacob’s friendly air. Feather quietly admitted that she could _breathe_ again.

“Please continue your story, Jacob. I’ll keep interruptions to a minimum. Promise.”

“All right…where was I? Oh yeah! So Newt and me were on our way to Central Park and we – well Newt – broke into a jewelry store to catch that sneaky niffler…”

Jacob was a gifted storyteller. Feather nearly fell off her stool in stitches when he described the Erumpent’s newfound love for him. He quickly passed over the night in the cells when he saw Feather’s face contort with pain.

“We don’t have to talk about that…I’m sure Tina—“

“Thank you, Jacob,” Feather said, cutting him off. “So, how did you escape? MACUSA’s crawling with Aurors and Merlin knows whatever else these Americans use to catch fugitives.”

Jacob’s mouth split into a wide, excited grin. “It was Queenie! I dunno how she knew where I was but she found me. They were gonna _Oblivate_ me, but then she showed up and we went to Graves’s office lookin’ for Newt’s case.”

“Queenie? I see…” Feather smirked as Jacob’s cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet and he became overly fascinated with the toe of his left shoe. “That girl’s got a lot of nerve. Bless her heart.”

“Yeah. She, uh, she told me that I was one of yous now.” He proudly straightened the lapels of his jacket and waggled his eyebrows.

Feather couldn’t resist another laugh, but, behind the mirth, her heart ached. Jacob approached magic the way she did as a child – full of joy and wonder and never ending curiosity. It was clear that he’d fallen in love with everything about the Wizarding World, even the most horrible parts of it. As they grew older, most witches and wizards saw magic merely as a tool. The mystical aspect of this most intimate part of them was lost on work and chasing dark wizards across the globe. It was a travesty that he would have to forget it all while the rest of the world continued to turn.

“She’s not wrong,” said Feather. “You deserve the magic far more than most of us.”

Jacob shook his head. “Nah. Not a guy like me.”

“You sell yourself short, Mr. Kowalski.”

He shrugged. “You’re real kind, Feather. But it’s not about being deservin’ of all this. It’s about what you’re given.”

Feather was stunned. “That’s too simple.”

“Sometimes it really is.”

_Knock. Knock._

Feather and Jacob instinctively spun around to face the shed door. Newt and Tina strode through, both significantly less teary and more relaxed.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“It’s Queenie,” Tina said, looking up to the ceiling of the shed.

“She must’ve reached my apartment.” Jacob stood, brushing off bits of fluff and feathers as he did so.

Sure enough, the ceiling opened to the evening sky and a rather familiar bob of glittering blonde hair filled the space.

“C’mon! It’s gettin’ cold up here!” Queenie called. “And Teenie, I need to have a word with you!”

All four companions smiled up at her, some a little hesitantly, others a little more than eager. Newt drew his wand, summoning a rather dilapidated ladder that dropped from the opening. Tina climbed up first, anxious to see her sister. Jacob clambered up after her, sending Feather a wink as he did so. Newt gestured for Feather to follow.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Listen, Mr. Scamander, I am so sorry for what I said earlier. I—“

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Firestone. Please.” He gestured to the ladder again, but did not meet Feather’s eye.

“I’m sorry all the same.” She took a breath and closed her eyes as she began her ascent. She only opened them again when she felt the cool rush of New York air and heard the rumble of city life below.

They were on the rooftop of one of New York’s many tenements. Tina and Queenie embraced near a small pigeon coop at the center while Jacob stood by, hands in his pockets, a dreamy look on his face. Feather made her way to the edge, a bit farther away from the rest of the group. Slowly, she processed everything that had occurred in the past few hours. It all seemed like a wild dream that she was sure to wake up from any moment. But, simultaneously, she knew in her bones that it was all too real. For the first time since she’d left home, she had a purpose – to help her friends fiddle their way through this mess. It would be a welcome distraction from her own pervasive thoughts, especially the ones that crept into her mind as she stared at the pavement below.

“Feather Rose, you better not!” Queenie’s lilting voice jolted her back to reason. She turned around to see the blonde witch standing side by side with the No-Maj, and the other witch and wizard perched on the edge of the roof a little way from them.

“I was just thinking, Queenie! I’ll be over in three ticks!” Feather took a moment to regard her four companions. They were all thrown together by chance and, for some reason, she was being given the opportunity to join them. As she looked on, Jacob and Queenie doubled over in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Newt and Tina stepped closer to one another, small smiles of understanding on their faces. Feather’s heart ached again, this time with bittersweet conviction. Even if their happiness wasn’t meant for her, maybe she could be a part of it, a part of something greater than her despair. She hopped off the ledge and walked towards the group, a slight skip in her step.


End file.
